Summoned, old ver
by Infernus Fenris
Summary: [Now dropped. Only here for reference until I finish my new project.]
1. Chapter I: Prologue

_Long ago, in a walled off city to the north..._

 _*Ahem. Excuse me, wrong intro.*_

 _In the Age of Ancients, the world was unformed, little to no sensory detail written into it. Then, there was text._

 _A stiff breeze whistled through the craggy stones of the Northern Asylum, leaving in its wake frail, shaking hollows milling about, moaning pitifully. Few had survived the curse that'd swept the land, and none remained in the asylum. Corpses littered the ground, some moving still. The smell of decay and rot had long been swept away by icy wind and the ravages of time._

 _In a particular hallway, a basement level floor on the western side of the building, a lone man, clutching his side, staggered to the floor of an open cell, its inmate lying face down nearby. The man was clothed in ragged strips of cloth, his skin a dark shade of pink, wrinkled and shriveled upon his bone frame. He breathed heavily when he sat, hands clutched tightly around a tiny black wisp near his breast._

 _The humanity sprite slowly slipped, bit by bit, into the man's darksign, a pitch black circle the size of a palm etched into his shoulder, covering the skin there. With every second he sat, doing nothing, a little more of the humanity slipped into the circle, his last link to sanity waning. Twin pricks of light in the wisp slowly dragged across the room, taking in the drab grey, mossy walls, the moldy hay on the floor, and finally, the undead corpse, cast face down on the floor next to him. It was a pitiful thing, hand outstretched toward the bucket a few feet away. The hollowing man had little to care for the already gone._

 _A single, heavy sigh shook the man as the wisp finally collapsed, its fragments tugged by an invisible string into his darksign in an instant. His thoughts moved to his family, and he pulled a small child's doll from his ragged pants. It was made of old, worn wood, and adorned with surprisingly smooth strings for hair, and a simple, smiling face. He found it in one of the storage rooms above, and had intended to give it to his daughter, when he escaped. Now, he clutched to it as a lifeline, struggling for a few more moments with it to his chest. In his last few moments, he felt himself tilt, accelerating rapidly toward the moldy hay next to him. His free hand flopped uselessly out in front of him, nudging the corpse._

 _Unknown to the slowly fading man, he had just nudged what was once an undead pyromancer's hand onto a small chalk scribble he'd hidden under the bucket, activating a tiny wink of power in the chunky, rough runes hastily scrawled on the bricks. A flicker of white light briefly passed through the room's doors, causing a few hollows to turn towards it briefly. When it had faded, the chalk runes were gone, and elsewhere, so was a young man. Police would later find his room empty, with no signs of leaving present. It was assumed to be a runaway case, a college student unable to cope with the stress of the work._

 _A sharp gasp filled the room. The pyromancer sat up._


	2. Chapter II

Honestly, there weren't many ways of starting a day worse than waking with freezing, soaked feet. Sure, not having a blanket to pull over oneself was terrible, and the bedhead caused by leaning against damp, mossy brick sucked, but cold wet feet was the absolute worst.

The second worst was realizing it was actually quite real. For a moment Mike looked back and forth, realization dawning in his eyes.

"Shit..." He muttered, surveying the room he was in. It was roughly six feet square, give or take, with a number of rusting shackles and other devices dangling from the walls at regular intervals. Of course, where he sat was the dampest spot in the room, a puddle that took up most of the back half of the cell, which must've come from the snow above, falling from a hole in the ceiling.

First, where in hell was he? If this was some sort of college hazing, it was very well done; enormous insectoid creatures scurried around the drier parts of the room, passing under a grate which the water slowly trickled through, and the occasional clatter of small claws echoed from a vent near the ceiling, providing sufficient atmosphere.

For a few moments, Mike let the illusion fool him. It was actually quite realistic, whoever had constructed the room he was in had gone all out with the setting, even including a bucket in the corner that emanated a foul odor. When he got out, he'd have to commend the-

'AaHHHH HOLY WHAT THE HELL." Mike screamed as something large, pink, and wrinkled entered his vision. His hand wasn't the only part of him as such, the unusual discoloration extended up his arm and presumably went over his entire body. As he scrambled to his feet sudden realization came over Mike, and he stopped very suddenly, halfway to the door.

"...In the age of ancients..." Mike said quietly, voice full of disbelief. Quickly, he launched himself at the door, to find a hollow on the other side, facing him from thirty feet down the hallway. A moldy, wet, eerily quiet hallway not unlike his cell.

"Ohhhhh no." Mike groaned. He stepped back and dropped to the ground, hand on his brow. "Not something safe or anything. No. I wake up, and where do I appear? In an abandoned asylum for crazy immortals, in a world that might die in ten minutes or ten thousand. Fantastic."

"Graaah." The hollow in the distance groaned. Mike froze, falling silent instantly. The hollow faced him for a few seconds, before turning to face a corner where a support column met the wall.

"I suppose it beats Monday." Mike sighed quietly. Unfortunately, the door was one of the few metal fixtures in the room still intact, even the bars in the vent high in the wall were almost gone, long brown rust stains trailing down the wall under them.

As he waited for Oscar to arrive, Mike thought of home. What would happen when, if, he returned? Would he have been gone a minute, an hour, more? Maybe it would be like Narnia, he'd wake up in bed and nothing would have happened. That led to the chilling thought that maybe he was in some sort of unconscious state, maybe even a coma. That line of thought was quickly abandoned, just as the rattle of armor came down from above.

Oscar's figure took a double take when Mike waved up to him meekly. he flipped up his visor to reveal a chiseled face covered in a thick layer of stubble, green eyes bright even among the mossy brick.

"Be you sane?" He called down, squinting to adjust to the dark.

"Yes, I suppose you have a key for me?" Mike replied. His voice cracked, and he only then realized how stiff and old his body felt. Oscar dug through a pouch at his waist for a moment before dropping not a corpse, but a key that Mike only just caught.

"Be mindful of the hollows." Oscar said in a low voice, before looking over his shoulder. "They shouldn't attack without reason, but if they do, this might help." This time, Mike did drop the object that was dropped down for him, the ruined end of a sword, naught but a hilt and a hands width of blade left. Holding it in front of him made him realize something was on his right hand, a shiny red band on his ring finger.

The Witch's ring was heavy and warm, and touching the small gold symbols on its surface made his head swim. Oscar was gone when he looked back up at the ceiling. "So much for warning him..." Mike muttered. After a final sweep of the cell, he unlocked the door with some careful twisting and turning of the key. The hollows seemed to start at the sound of the door creaking open, but otherwise stayed as they were. Mike let out a sigh he hadn't realized he was holding.

"One, two, three..." Mike counted the hollows ahead of him carefully, sword hilt extended in front of him. He didn't particularly favor the idea of killing them, they'd been humans once upon a time. If it _did_ come down to him or them, however, he wouldn't let them catch him off guard very easily.

A six inch, slightly dull sword blade would kill them, _right?_

It was probably nothing to worry about. Taking slow, deep breaths, Mike broke into a light jog down the hallway, passing the first hollow in seconds. He craned his head around to watch its reaction; it continued staring into its corner. The second hollow reacted similarly, its head cradled in its hands as he passed.

 _THUMP._

Mike jumped. Spinning wildly to find the source of the sound, he ducked out of sight of the Stray Demon just as it turned in his direction. Holy shit, how did such an enormous creature manage to get so close without him noticing?! It was easily twenty feet tall or more, and the smell that rolled off its tough, stony skin was reminiscent of four day old roadkill in the summer.

Eventually, as he huddled just out of its sight, it began to recede. At least, he thought so. It could have been faking, but that attributed far more intelligence to it than Mike would like to think it had. When he peeked out, it had moved to another part of its chamber, where it was using the end of its massive staff to carve odd symbols into the walls. Without thinking, Mike kicked off the rotting remnants of his shoes and bolted for the end of the hallway as silently as he could manage. The demon didn't look up once.

Thank god, (or was it Gwyn now?), for small miracles. Though his feet were cold, the slushy puddle of water at the end of the hallway, despite being half frozen over, was quite manageable to pass through barefoot. Perhaps being in hollowed form had some _slight_ benefits. It barely made up for the fact that his hair was little more than stringy bits limply dangling from his scalp, however.

When he rose into the courtyard, two things hit Mike instantly. There was snow _everywhere,_ and for some reason, the unlit bonfire directly before him seemed _extremely_ attractive at the moment, in a platonic way. It was like there was some invisible force pushing him to go and sit in front of it and relax. After a moments hesitation, he did. Oh yes, there were certainly pros to coming here, bonfires being one of them. The light crackle and burst of light when it flared to life at his presence was like encountering an old friend. He felt at home.

It was tough, breaking away from the bonfire and its warmth. Mike kept having to shove aside thoughts of _one more minute,_ lest he never leave. Once he broke free of the dry circle of ground around the fire, he was able to briskly walk to the double doors leading to the boss arena undisturbed, snow crunching underfoot.

The doors were surprisingly easy to open. Maybe a little too easy, perhaps it would be a good idea to go back to the bonfire and formulate-

 _SLAM._

Mike jumped, spinning in place instantly. A small groan escaped him when he saw the door, shut solidly. He turned back around to the Asylum Demon's room slowly, shoulders tense. The knuckles on his right hand were white from clutching his pathetic sword hilt.

"Um... Hi?" He said in meek tones, facing the 20 foot tall demon in front of him. Pure, spiteful malice filled the demons face as it glared down at him, gauging his strength probably.

Mike probably could've acted a little more heroic. He might've been able to disorient the demon with a handful of rubble to its face, or a sword in its foot. Being the man he was, he opted to stand absolutely still, eyes glued to its hammer. He couldn't seem to remember how to move his feet, and was too afraid to try, lest he fall and not get up.

So, he waited for it to make the first move. They stood standing like that, facing off like in an old western, for maybe three or four minutes, though it felt like days to Mike. It was almost a shock when the Demon did attack, signaled by a small twitch in its hands before it hefted its hammer backwards. Mike's eyes had eventually settled on its hands, a sort of second nature derived from an assassin run ages ago. Before it had even fully wound up to hit him Mike had yelped and darted straight towards it, angling left when he came near to its clawed feet. It was there that he made his first mistake.

He'd underestimated the demon, and would pay the price. Too slow to react, its foot lashed out with lightning speed, connecting with his right side with the top of its foot. Mike was able to register that the world was spinning around him as he went flying, before hitting something solid and stone. A concerning number of pops and cracks came from his left hand where he'd reached out to brace himself, it was pressed flat to the wall next to him, and the fingers were at all the wrong angles. He didn't register the pain so much as the shock that his hand looked like it'd gone through a blender, the knuckles raw and red, dripping blood down his thumb.

Feeling like he was moving through molasses, Mike threw himself at the red portcullis as the demon leveled a column and a number of large clay pots beside him. His hand began to sting as he half ran to the door, a slam of the Demon's hammer shaking the ground under him as he darted through the narrow doorway. The shrill cry of outrage from the Demon was overpowered by the sound of the door slamming behind him, some mechanism holding it up finally collapsing.

The stinging in his hand grew exponentially worse when he stumbled on the way down the bonfire and tried to brace himself against the wall with it. For a few seconds, the pulling of already taut tendons burned like liquid fire in his hand, and, biting back a curse and an exclamation, Mike stumbled the final few feet to the bonfire. It lit as he drew near, Mike thumped down when he was close enough to feel its warmth. Almost immediately the fire began healing his hand, a soft orange glow enveloping the gnarled digits. Mike bit down on the tattered edge of his shirt as his hand snapped back into its original shape like a rubber bands, the pain spiking high enough to bring small tears to the corners of his eyes before subsiding into a dull ache.

His breathing was heavy when Mike finally pulled himself together enough to stand and edge toward the next hallway, pressed on by the thought that Oscar had taken _a direct hit_ from the demon. When he met the knight, Mike would have to remember to acknowledge his sheer willpower.

"Hello?" Mike called when he turned to the hallway with the hollow archer. Snow lined the walls in a thick layer of ice, and half of the floor was covered in a sheet of dark ice that reflected the harsh glare of the sun. The hollow at the end of the hall was half iced over and wielding a crude shortbow in its left hand. Mike ducked around the corner as a _twang_ echoed through the hall; seconds later an arrow shattered against the stone near where his face had just been.

"Frick." Mike said, irritation crossing his face. He could _probably_ manage a melee hollow, but this was something he wasn't going to chance. That broken hand had hurt enough for him. Maybe if it was closer, he could've spooked it into running...

Wait a minute! He was a human, capable of throwing objects in a way every other species on Earth was incapable of! What was a little hallway to him? Feeling incredibly dumb, Mike slid the broken short sword from his belt, feeling the weight of it in his hand for a moment before spinning on the spot and whipping it into the hallway the archer was in. The sword flew through the air in a slightly skewed direction, ending up just shy of the archer. In typical fashion, the hollow stared dumbly at where the sword had hit the ground for a few seconds, its bow-arm slack. Mike took that time to bolt from where he'd been observing, feet cracking the thin ice as he weaved left and right like he'd seen in a movie once. Surprisingly, the hollow appeared threatened as Mike neared, it feebly strung an arrow before dropping its things and bolting up the nearby stairs.

Mike cursed as he came to a stop, hopping from foot to foot. the ice had been rather hard, and his soles were crossed by a number of thin red lines that were already freezing over. Before he moved on, he went back and retrieved a round wooden shield in terrible condition from a side room, and tripped over the handle of an ax near the end of the hallway. When he pulled it from under a layer of snow, there was a crackling noise as a leathery skull came up with it. Mike swore and dropped the ax, sending the skull rolling back the way he'd came.

The shield was in rough condition, but usable. The ax wasn't much better, covered in rust and splintered almost beyond use. They did serve to explain why he was clad in extremely plain brown pants and a tattered shirt, he was a pyromancer. Or, maybe- No, the shield and ax were separate... Eh. Right now, he had some of the apparel, and the weapons of a pyromancer. Maybe he had fire too?

"Hnnnnngh. No fire then." Mike sighed, lowering the hand he'd extended to the wall. Either he didn't know how, or couldn't use fire. A shame really, it would've made the Asylum Demon fight that much easier. He had an ax, anyway. An ax he'd have to use shortly-

 _Thump._ "Ah! What the hell?!" Mike jumped back as a corpse slammed into the ground at his feet. The hollow from earlier lay twisted in a heap for a few seconds before it began to collapse in on itself, turning to ash before disappearing entirely. A stream of white souls flew from its corpse, flavorless and odorless as they rushed to fill his lungs. A cough burst from Mike, the souls burned like cigarette smoke for a few seconds before being absorbed. Suddenly, he felt a little heavier.

"Freaky..." Mike muttered. Before continuing he retrieved his sword piece from the snow where it had fallen, just in case.

Oscar was, as usual, lying limply on the floor when Mike pushed through the fog wall blocking him. The knight turned his head toward Mike for a moment, before heavily lowering it to his chest, which was covered in loose rubble. Mike froze on seeing the knight crumpled on the ground. Something about his chest was off... oh. His chest was flat. less that flat, his chestplate, (a new addition, Mike noted,) looked like an enormous silver bowl, but curved the wrong way.

"Shit! How are you still alive?!" Mike yelled through the door blocking his way into the room Oscar was in. The knight twitched slightly in response. Mike gripped his ax tighter and ran around the room, not stopping to look up the stairs he was on. As a low rumbling filled the hall Mike simply jumped to the right, bracing to land below. The crash of the boulder going through a wall nearly knocked Mike down before he could regain his balance. The dust hadn't even settled when Mike stormed Oscar's cell.

"...Oh, you... You're-"

"Hold on." Mike interrupted, holding up a hand. "How're you even alive?! Your chest looks like a deflated balloon! How are you dealing with the pain?"

"You didn't hear me?" Oscar asked.

"Hear you what?" Mike said.

"Nothing. The pain seemed to wear off after a while. Now, you must take over for me." Oscar coughed heavily, the hot air coming from his mouth a light shade of red.

Mike was crouched now, his eyes skating over the concave curve of Oscar's armor. "I suppose there's an estus flask here somewhere?" He asked.

"Third belt pouch on the right, though it may be cracked." Oscar coughed. "It should still heal your injuries, though."

"You think?" Mike replied absentmindedly as he rifled through the contents of Oscar's pockets. Eventually, he came up with a green bottle barely larger than his hand, abut half filled with orange liquid that emanated warmth through the air. Oscar nodded when he saw it.

"Yes, that's the one." Oscar said. 'Hey, what're you-!" The rest of his dialogue was cut off as heavy orange liquid filled his mouth. Mike had lifted his visor and rapidly jammed the bottle into his face before he could tell what was happening.

"Stop that, get off-!" Oscar gasped. his hands, which had shoved Mike back, shook as he drew them close to his face. "I can move." He said quietly. 'I can move!"

"It appears that way-" _Bang!_ Mike leaped out of the way as a piece of metal went flying, landing somewhere behind him. Oscar let out the breath he'd taken, unconstrained by his ruined chestpiece. "You could've warned me!" Mike exclaimed.

"Sorry." Oscar said. His chest was now bereft of metal, a dark blue coat now resting over a regular shaped stomach. After removing his helmet, Oscar swallowed the rest of the estus that'd remained in the bottle. Mike's eyes widened when he saw the back of the helm Oscar discarded, a dent the size of a fist was pressed into the back of the metal, and blood pooled on the floor where it was discarded.

"Truly." Oscar began as his legs straightened. "Thank you. My thoughts... they were muddled. Hazy. I believe... I believe I was going to tell you... Oh dear. I'm afraid I forgot." Oscar sighed as he climbed to his feet, returning the estus to his belt. "You're the undead I released from the western wing, correct?"

"Yep." Mike nodded, falling into step with Oscar as they exited his cell. "Though, I wasn't sure if you would make it long enough for me to heal you."

"You knew I was hurt?" Oscar inquired. Mike paused to turn his attention to the hollow at the top of the stairs, but Oscar finished it first with a blink-and-you'll-miss-it swing of his sword. Mike stopped.

"Holy shit. That was fast." He said Oscar nodded as he re-sheathed his sword.

"It was." He agreed as he rolled his shoulder. The joint popped loudly. "I should've been a little more careful. Back to you, how did you know I was injured?" Oscar turned and faced Mike, crossing his arms.

"I uh..." How should he approach this? Honesty was probably the best policy with Oscar, he was probably trained to sniff out bullshittery. "Well, you know how with a soapstone, you can be summoned to another world or time?" Mike cautiously asked. Oscar looked at him curiously, but nodded.

"Yes, I've heard of such stones, rare though they are." he nodded.

"Well, I suppose I'm from one of those other worlds." Mike said.

"Oh? They why were you in a cell?" Oscar said.

Mike frowned. Oscar didn't believe him. "You've a holy enchantment on your sword, and your shield is resistant to magic." He said quietly. "This door leads to a ledge to the demon's room, where we will fight it. Around the side of this floor, there's a broken stairwell with a corpse bearing a rusted iron ring bearing some manner of enchantment, and in Lordran, there will be a man in chainmail armor to greet us when we arrive. I can go on, but please, don't immediately disbelieve me."

Oscar raised one of his brows, clearly surprised. "That's a lot of specific information. Almost like you've seen these things before."

"Would you believe me if I told you I have?" Mike asked.

"No." Oscar replied. Mike sighed.

"Well, thanks for helping me escape, anyway." Mike said with a shrug. He was turning to leave when an armored hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"Wait."

"Yeah?" Mike turned.

"Maybe... tell me more. We both head to Lordran, yes? Let's rest at the nearest bonfire, and I will determine if I believe you." Oscar said.

Wow. Mike honestly hadn't thought that would work. Huh.


	3. Chapter III

Mike and Oscar were sitting in the first courtyard of the Asylum, warming up next to the bonfire. Oscar collected his scattered thoughts while Mike stared blankly at the snow on the ground, swirling lazily in the ever present wind. Oscar finally cleared his throat and spoke.

"I am known as Oscar Petersson, 1st rank knight of Hillund, Astora. I was locked in the asylum not long after the undead curse began to spread, purely by accident." Oscar glanced toward the back half of the Asylum, or was it the front? "They grabbed me when I brought up a cartload of prisoners with the rest of my group, I've been in for a few years now, maybe five?"

Mike warmed his hands at the bonfire for a moment, thinking. "Well, I was a scholar, of sorts. Numbers and... is science a thing here?"

Oscar frowned and shook his head. "I've heard of no such thing. Is it a language?"

"Not really." Mike said. "Its the study of the world in detail, using strict methodology and observations. I preferred numbers, though. Anyway, I was at school for them when I appeared here, where you found me. Quite frankly, I'm not sure how I ended up here."

"I would assume magic was involved, then." Oscar said. "I don't know much of such things, I kept to the sword mostly."

"See that's the thing." Mike began. "In my world, magic doesn't exist, or if it does, we haven't figured it out yet. Instead, we've developed technologically far beyond this-" He waved at the building around them, "-to the point that construction like this is ancient. We don't even use bladed weapons in combat any more."

Oscar was aghast. "Then how do you fight?" He asked.

"With weapons I wouldn't release upon this world if I was held at knifepoint. Just understand that this is all old fashioned for me." Mike shrugged.

"This is all assuming you're telling the truth." Oscar said doubtfully.

"Yes, I suppose you're right. I could just be a madman, rambling about nonexistent places and things. I probably wouldn't trust someone if they told me they were from a technologically advanced otherworld either." Mike nodded sagely.

"What then can you do, if you don't use melee weapons?" Oscar asked. Mike leaned into the fire a little and fell deep into thought.

"I can fire a crossbow, though ours were a little different. As for melee, nothing. I can chop with this, though." Mike lifted his ax from where it lay beside him.

"Too slow." Oscar placed a hand on his chin. "Do you think you could stab with a knife?" He asked.

"Maybe?" Mike said slowly. "Yeah, probably."

"Here." Oscar flipped something from the folds of his coat at Mike. Startled, he dropped it and had to find the dagger Oscar had thrown in the snow nearby.

After sliding the blade form the sheath Mike looked it over and stabbed mock enemies. "Yeah, this should work. Just in case though, I'll keep this with me too." The ax was heavy, and would hit hard if swung properly. It might be useful eventually. Oscar sank back into his thoughts as Mike got up to leave.

"Off already?" Oscar's said from behind him as Mike went to return upstairs. Oscar stepped up beside him as he ascended the stairs, following Mike as he made his way around the second floor.

"So you believe me?" Mike asked.

"No, but if you do have useful knowledge I'm certainly not going to pass up an offer of friendship." Oscar slowed to a stop as Mike began to scramble up a set of broken, crushed stairs.

"Ah, so you're using me for my brain." Mike sighed theatrically. He grimaced when he found a pile of dusty rags propped up against the iron bars of the nearby wall. His eyes zeroed in on a chipped manacle hanging from the arm of the corpse, a brown hand poking through the metal band. It looked as though they'd died trying to free their arm from the second manacle, still attached form the wall. Carefully so as to not overly disturb the corpse, Mike reached out to tug the rusted iron ring from its last owner.

"Ah!" Mike cried out, falling back. the manacle flew from his grip, landing with a clang somewhere below.

"It stabbed me! What the hell?!" Mike swore and dropped down next to Oscar.

Oscar lifted the manacle from where it'd fallen and carefully looked it over. "I don't see any sharp edges on it." he commented. "You said it was enchanted, correct?"

Mike nodded.

"...I suppose, if you've never encountered magic before, that may be it. But that doesn't make any-"

"Sense?" Mike interjected. "I told you, it doesn't exist in my world. Here, let me see it again."

Oscar held the ring carefully when passing it to Mike. A faint hiss came from his grit teeth when his fingers encountered the pitted metal of the manacle, but this time he endured and held the ring more tightly.

"It's like... agh, I can't even think of a good metaphor. It's weird." Mike shook the shackle to remove a bit of dust before snapping it over his own bare wrist. "It's weird, this doesn't feel the same at all. It just feels like a normal ring." Mike said while holding up the Old Witch's Ring.

"That's enchanted?" Oscar asked. Mike nodded and headed back toward the other side off the floor.

"Yeah, it translates... Well, it translates a mostly dead language anyway." Mike brought his right hand up to his eyes to inspect the ring more closely.

"I see." Oscar said mock-seriously. "Well, I suppose that'd be why it feels normal, it isn't using magic currently."

Mike bit back an immediate response. "... It's still hard to get that there's magic, and I've now got two magic rings with me. If -" He cut himself off. "Ah, when I get back, I'll have to try and bring some with me."

"If you get back." Oscar said. "I can't think of anything that might be able to do that. Magic is quite non-physical, miracles also, and pyromancy can only heat things up. I can't fathom how you'd move between worlds."

Mike nodded in agreement. "Are you familiar with soapstones?" He asked as they made their way back around the floor.

"Somewhat." Oscar said. "I knew fellows with them, but could never afford one myself. From what I understand, they send you forwards or backwards in time?"

"Yep." Mike said. "I think they also go between worlds, but I can't confirm that yet."

They stopped at the base of the stairs leading to the third floor. Oscar cast a glance at the cell where he'd lain, broken, and shuddered. "Let me... handle the hollows up here." Mike said nervously. "I should get this done and over with quickly." He unsheathed the dagger from where it hung at his waist.

"Get what done and over with?" Oscar asked, too late. Mike was already halfway up the stairs, the dagger held in a white-knuckle grip. The hollow at the top of the stairs looked up sharply when Mike approached, broken sword hanging from its hands uselessly.

"Watch out!" Oscar yelled as he saw the hollow's sword rise. Mike, rushing forward, saw the arm and reacted. Ducking under it, he slammed his shoulder into the hollow's gut. He felt it stumble, his arm snaked forward and stabbed the dagger Oscar had given him into the hollow's gut. Then again. And again. After the third stab he stepped back, letting the hollow crumple to the ground in a heap. Thick black-red blood pooled around it.

"It'll bleed out." Oscar said, stepping up next to Mike. He pulled out his sword and beheaded the hollow in a single motion. "But this is quicker."

"Mike nodded dumbly. "I..." He said lowly. He'd helped kill that hollow, which now slowly turned gray and faded.

"Your story checks out." Oscar said, surprise in his voice. "Last I saw someone react like that to their first kill was probably twenty five years ago when my brother killed his first deer."

"Are you calling me a child?" Mike asked.

"No, just inexperienced. I suppose it'll but get worse from here on, so you'd best learn to deal and keep moving now." Oscar kicked the fading hollow away and began opening the iron door barring the way forward. On the other side, snow lay an inch thick on the ground, dusting the building with white.

"You're right." Mike said, pulling himself from his dazed state with a slight shake of his head. "It's just, that was once someone like us." He explained as Oscar fiddled with a small key.

"Yes, they were. It's sorry that they're lost, but now they're as much a part of nature as a dead tree limb. You may use it for burning or building, but no amount of pity or care may bring it back." The key finally slid all the way into the lock, and turned with a sound reminiscent of stone grating on stone. "There we are. I suppose this loops around to the small overseeing ledge I saw from above?"

Mike nodded. "There's a fog wall so we have some time to prepare for the demon. There are also two melee hollows on the left and an archer. Beyond them is an armored melee hollow and the stairs where I found this." He held up the rusted iron ring and waved a hand at the small space to the left.

"It appears only wide enough for one person. Shall I run forward and let you handle them downed?" Oscar asked.

"No thank you. I'll be checking that." Mike pointed at a lump of snow slumped against the right wall.

"Snow?" Oscar wondered aloud.

"On a body." Mike said. "There might be something useful here, this one usually has some sort of ranged weaponry. I'll see if there's anything we can use."

"Hm. I suppose if you find a bow I could put it to use..." Oscar said as he strode through the snow to the left. Mike made his way to the right carefully, waiting for the sound of Oscar crashing into the hollows before he stepped fully into their line of sight. Quickly he crouched in the snow, the cold powder remaining so against his skin. That was mildly disturbing. Reaching under the snow, Mike shook the corpse gently, dumping a cascade of snow right into his lap. This revealed a leathery face shrouded by a leather hood that'd frozen solid, it wouldn't budge.

The corpse was that of a man, clad in a brittle leather jacket that came away in large, crackling chunks when Mike let the body fall. In its lap, a satchel in similar condition, which nearly fell apart when Mike tugged it from the bony mans death grip. Prize in hand, Mike turned and found Oscar a few feet away, returning his sword to it's scabbard.

"Well?" Oscar asked.

"Looks like..." Mike's voice lowered into a mumble as he carefully sifted through the contents of the frozen bag. His face grew confused as he rifled through what sounded like paper, most of which came out of the bag as a fine grey powder after it crumbled. Suddenly, startling Oscar, Mike dropped to the ground and began running his hands over the bricks around the pair. If the papers were correct, and the corpse had been any good as a wizard, there was a staff somewhere around here. There! Mike grasped a wooden shaft and pulled what seemed to be a plain stick from the snow, somewhere under three feet long and nothing more than a tree branch with ends whittled smooth.

"Oh!" Oscar said when Mike turned the satchel to him. A thin piece of blue paper peeked out from a stack of crumbling white pages, one side covered in tightly packed symbols. "So he was a mage. His appearance is deceiving."

"No it's not." Mike said as he pried the paper from the satchel, discarding the latter of the two. For a few seconds he tried calling on some otherworldly power, to no avail. He turned his head up to Oscar. "It's a thief. He also had this." Mike held out the curved dagger that'd been clenched in the corpses free hand. Oscar examined the thin blade for a moment before handing it back to Mike.

The thief had probably nicked the blade from some hollow, back when they still held things, and had died up here, maybe to the archer. Mike grimaced when he looked past the dissolving bodies to the fog wall looming nearby. The demon was an ugly son of a gun, and to be truthful, Mike wasn't entirely sure if they could take it down, even together. Oscar was still rather slow in his armor, and he was only slightly faster. Even then, that was ignoring the fact that between them they had a sword and two knives, and only one of them could use the weapons.

"Well." Oscar said, breaking the silence that'd fallen. "I guess we should do this. Not that I want to."

"You've got me there." Mike nodded in agreement. "This is just the first of many."

Oscar nodded, and without a word stepped through the fog wall. Mike was so startled, it was a few seconds before he dashed after the knight, drawing the knife he'd been given. The fog was heavy and cold around him, and Oscar was already backed against the wall next to him when Mike stepped through.

"That was very stupid." Oscar said, his face pale.

"For which of us?" Mike asked, his dagger hand shaking slightly. He glared down at it silently.

"Both. How shall we do this, me or you first?" Oscar said. Mike glanced over the side of the platform they stood on, the demon hadn't yet raised its hammer to bring them down.

"How about both at the same time?" Mike said quietly.

"Sure. On... GO!" Oscar yelled suddenly. Mike jumped, and found himself running after Oscar as the knight launched himself off the platform and at the demon. A scream tore from his mouth as the demons craggy face rushed up at him, dagger raised above his head. A satisfying thump came from the demon's flesh as the dagger sank into a soft patch of its skin. Mike's breath rushed out of him as he slammed into the jagged protrusions sprouting from the demon's chest. Oscar's sword was embedded halfway to the hilt in the demon's head; the knight fought the demon's bucking to reclaim his blade. Mike grit his teeth and tried to do the same, but at the angle he hung, he couldn't possibly pull the blade out. Bracing for impact, he grit his teeth and opened his hands, kicking away from the demon moments before slamming into the floor. His head cracked against a brick and his vision swam. Terror overwhelmed him as the demon cast Oscar and his sword away, the knight crumpling to the floor somewhere across the room.

The demon turned slowly to Mike, its leering gaze laced with pain. He imagined he didn't look much better, a small puddle of blood forming where it fell from his head. As though it only then remembered its hammer, the demon lifted its arm and swept it across the floor at Mike. Seeing the hammer rushing at him, Mike stumbled to his feet and jumped, pulling his legs up as high as they would rise. That, however, left him on his back when he fell to the floor. Now his butt hurt too.

This was it. Oscar was lying in a heap, slumped inward, and the demon was leaning down to snatch Mike up with one of it's stumpy hands. "No!" Mike cried as it set its hammer down, pressing the other hand to his chest. Panicking, Mike flailed for a surface to grasp, or something to hit it with.

 _The dagger!_ Mike whipped the knife from his belt and in a single motion stabbed it up, into the clawed hand that was rushing toward his chest. The demon cried out as he jerked the blade back and forth, trying to free it so he could stab again. Mike was sent flying like Oscar had been, except he arced high up into the air, almost above the building's roof. If he reached up at the top of his arc, he could've touched the spot the demon had stood on. All of a sudden, the weightless feeling was replaced with a sinking feeling as the bricks began moving upward. In a moment of clarity that, in hindsight, was probably just his brain being so overwhelmed it just stopped, Mike lifted the dagger in his hands and slammed it down as hard as he could as the demon rushed at him faster than he could follow. He felt the impact of the dagger, followed by a screech like no other, before everything dimmed and went dark.

* * *

"...Mike? Mike!" Mike jumped as he heard his name being shouted.

"What?! Where-" Mikes voice cut out as he turned to his right. His eyes widened as he took in the sight of his arm. The limb was pushed up to the shoulder in what appeared to be the Asylum Demon's right eye socket, and when he saw the broken, bulging eyeball bursting from the left socket, Mike couldn't hold it. He spun to the left and send a stomachfull of vomit down the demon's side, followed shortly by a few small wet drops of saltwater.

"Oscar!" Mike croaked, his voice hoarse, from screaming or vomit he didn't know. "Help!"

"I'm trying!" Oscar shouted up. "Try and free your arm, I'll catch you!"

Mike tried tugging the arm from the demon's cranium, only successfully making himself vomit once more. The demon's remaining lifeless eye stared up at him from four inches below where it should've been, hanging by a thin pink thread. Mike couldn't help but stare at the disgusting thing as he flopped his right arm around uselessly inside the demon's head. What had initially been shock had turned into muted horror as Mike watched the eyeball slowly slide down the demon's face.

Oscar soon appeared halfway up the demon's chest, his armor shed but for the clothes underneath. He clambered up the demons belly until he was face to face with Mike, who waved his free hand limply.

"it's dead." Mike said mock-cheerfully.

"It is." Oscar agreed. "You've been shaken by this, quite so. We'll deal with that once we get you out of here." Mike nodded, and it wasn't long before Oscar had managed to free his arm of the demon's skull. Mike came to himself when he slipped from Oscar's grasp, sliding half a foot closer to the ground. His head swam, and his legs ached fiercely, but most of all the demon's face, half exploded, half imploded, literally by his hand, wouldn't leave his head.

"I Killed it." Mike said when Oscar led him back to the bonfire.

"You did." The knight agreed. "In quite a brutal fashion. Even I was shocked. Though I show no sighs, I have many of the same thoughts as you. Mostly that it's disgusting looking, and quite terrifying I imagine."

Mike nodded more quickly than before. The bonfire was probably affecting him. "Yeah." he said. "It was like being in a horror movie. I mean, I wanted the demon dead, but not _literally_ by my hand. It was like... I don't know. What if you butchered a cow by stabbing a sword through its eye and into its head?"

"I imagine it'd be quite terrible for both parties." Oscar replied.

"Indeed." Mike said, nodding. Behind them, there was a large crash as the demon fell over, slowly dissipating into ash.

"But we _must_ move on. Don't let this break you, Mike. You've still got to get back to your world." Oscar clapped a hand over Mike's shoulder encouragingly.

"Wait." Mike spun to face Oscar. "You thought I'd just droop like a wet noodle and quit?" Mike let out a small laugh. "I'm just dealing. The same thing happened the first time I saw someone have a seizure. It sucks, but I'll deal. Maybe with nightmares. Probably with nightmares. I think much of it was just shock, you know?"

Oscar nodded. "Indeed. The first time I saw a man killed, I drank myself into a stupor and slept for two days. Then it was Monday and I had the commander knocking down my door looking for me. I suppose your case _was_ a little extreme though."

'You're telling me. Let's just not mention this to anyone, yeah? When we're old and telling our grandchildren stories of our youth, I definitely didn't have watery eyes or anything." Mike looked down at his arm, which was somehow clean. "Any reason I don't have brain juice on me though?"

"Perhaps something you're wearing?" Oscar suggested. Mike looked over himself before noticing the cause of his arms cleanliness. The rusted iron ring was warm and light on his wrist, right where he'd put it. except now small bits of raw meat were being expelled from under it, where it'd caught the edge of the eye socket twice.

"Intriguing." Oscar said when he saw the phenomenon.

'Yeah" Mike agreed. They sat around the bonfire until the demon eventually disappeared fully, signaled by a clang; the dagger that'd killed it falling to the ground. Where it had been now lay a single humanity, what appeared to be a human rib bone, and a key. The dagger was on the floor nearby, lying in a puddle of blood that was half frozen in the arctic wind.

Before they left, Oscar was sent to retrieve a small chunk of souls to one side of the outside graveyard, while Mike went to the right. Creeping to the edge of the cliff, Mike spotted a nest and called out "is anyone here?"

"Hello...?" Called out a small voice, directly from the nest. The twigs bent as something shifted inside.

"Just wondering if you'd like to trade for anything in the future." Mike said.

"Yes..." The voice mused. "Trade good. Like trade. Trade now, leave then."

Mike frowned. "Leave? why?"

The voice took a few moments to reply. "Something happen. Something bad. Bad feeling here, gone now. But maybe back. Not good."

Mike frowned. What could've come and then left that felt bad just to be near? "Well, can you wait till I come back? I don't know how long it'll take, but I promise lots of stuff to trade."

"Warm and soft?" The voice asked eagerly.

"Yeah, lots. Or, you could go to Lordran. Do you know where that is?" Mike looked back and found Oscar staring down at him. He held up a and indicating for the knight to wait.

"Yes! You go to Lordran?" The nest shook a little as it's owner moved.

"Yeah, me and the big guy up there." Mike pointed at his companion.

"Be there." The voice said with certainty.

"Alright. Just be careful." Mike said. There was a rustling sound that might've been the voice nodding, and Mike returned to the middle of the hill.

"What was that? " Oscar asked as Mike led him up the hill.

"Oh nothing. You probably haven't flown before, have you?" Mike asked as Oscar stared with surprise at the broken off edge of the hill.

"The path, it's-" The knight was cut off as something massive and black dropped down in front of them, slowing just enough to safely reach out and wrap a talon around each of them. Then, it was gone in a flash of darkness.


	4. Chapter IV

"…twenty three bottles of beer on the wall, twenty three bottles of beer! Take one down, slug it down, twenty two bottles of beer on the wall!" Mike paused as the raven clutching he and Oscar in its talons passed over another ridiculously sized wall, sprawling city passing below them. The trees they'd started to spot about three hours before suddenly seemed to loom closer, before they were suddenly far above, casting them in muted shadow.

"We appear to be descending." Oscar called over the wind, hanging three get to Mike's right. The undead knight twisted to look around them, something Mike could not afford in casual wear, lest he kill himself on the raven's talons.

Truly, they were descending, and Mike found himself washed away by nostalgia as a familiar tree and weed overgrown shrine came into view below. In person the place was more magnificent than he could put into words, bright green vines and plants framing weathered and cracked stone monuments standing tall still, after all the centuries of abuse they'd faced.

Mike braced himself, and to his right, Oscar did the same. His stomach lurched as the raven dipped sharply, its legs outstretched towards the round. Stone and greenery rushed up at him faster than he could follow until-

"Oof!" At the last second before he'd dropped from the raven, his shirt had caught the end of its talon and spun him around, to face the sky and tree above. The force of his back hitting the stone was enough to crack bone, which he was reminded of when he took another breath. A jagged cage of pain lanced through his torso, like a barbed wire vest.

Oscar fared slightly similarly, his legs coming out from under him when he hit the ground. To his credit, Mike could not hear a word of the grumbles coming from his mask, only the recognizable sound of estus being sipped coming to him over the wind in the ravens wake. As he waited for Oscar to come over, the raven landed on the tower above him, blinking down at him. Mike made a rude gesture at it when he was sure Oscar wasn't looking.

"Fine day… isn't it?" Mike coughed as Oscar appeared in front of him. Tilting his head, he could see the knight's left leg sag slightly.

"Here." Oscar slowly tilted the estus flask. Mike drank the estus without hesitation, warmth filling his chest before dissipating on the wind. His shirt fluttered where it was torn in the back as he rose.

The flight from the asylum had taken roughly four hours in the talons of the bird, talking, telling stories, and in Mike's case, singing when all else failed. Oscar had been sick for the first few minutes, traveling so far above ground so fast, but had cleared up after that, spending much of his time waiting swiveling to watch the land blur by. He had interrogated Mike fiercely on the bird carrying them, to no avail. The younger undead knew almost nothing of it.

All of that brought the two of them to the shrine, namely, its bonfire. Both huddled close to the flame as it patched them up, Mike ignoring the casual stare of the crestfallen knight behind them. Oscar likely hadn't even seen the fellow, leafy vines covering much of his arms and legs.

Mike warmed himself further as Oscar spun in place, taking in the shrine with a critical eye. He caught all most all of the different routes with a glance, the elevator, burg path, and stairs leading below likely glaringly obvious with his training. Mike pointed to the graveyard after his eyes had scanned over the place a second time, slower.

"Heh, as amusing as it would be, watching you try at the graveyard, I would not advise it too quickly. Who knows, you might well succeed with the prophecy. Or not." Oscar spun to face the voice instantly, tensing. Mike was much more casual, nodding.

"Maybe. Maybe not, as you say. Terrible way to view things though, yeah?" Mike stuck out a hand. "Mike, undead, no fighting training, nice to meet you. This is Oscar." He stuck a thumb towards the knight.

"You're cocky sounding." Crestfallen chuckled, ignoring the hand. "I was too, once."

"You mistake optimism." Mike replied. "Though, cockiness is a potential threat, with what I know. I'll hold it to you to keep me in line." His handshake was unaccepted, so he slapped the hand on the knight's shoulder before turning back to the fire. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the knight's face transitioning from boredom to surprised curiosity.

"The elevator is broken, and for now, were barred from the Blighttown below." Oscar cast a startled look at the stairs he'd noted nearby.

"You mean the Blighttown?!" He asked incredulously.

"Indeed. The prophecy speaks of ringing the bell of awakening, of which there are actually two, probably because one would be too easy. The first is in a church way up yonder-" Mike pointed in a generally upward direction, "-and the other is in Blighttown, this land's version of hell."

"…oh." Oscar said slowly. "I presume we'll be heading upward then, to the first bell?"

Mike nodded. "Yep. A few small difficulties in between, nothing much." He paused. "Well, it might actually be difficult, if not for you then for me. I'm not entirely certain."

"Well, you've a weapon, do you not?" Perhaps something of use in that satchel?" Mike looked down at the indicated satchel in confusion before his eyes widened.

"I forgot to look inside!" He exclaimed in surprise. With light steps he darted over to a worn grey bench across from them, propped against a crumbling stone wall. One by one he dug around in the satchel, drawing from within Oscar's leather oil, the rusted iron 'ring,' his old shirt, tattered and dirty, and finally, a thin blue book-like sheaf of papers, held together by fraying string at one edge.

"It appears something yet survived from that corpse." Oscar said, surprise evident in his tone.

"The Basic Principles of Magic, by Logan of Vinheim." Mike read slowly. The words were faded with age and written in a light grey ink, barely legible. Oscar nodded slowly.

"I don't suppose you also found a staff in that bag?" He crouched besides Mike, looking over the first few pages of the book, which was filled with tightly packed blocks of information and diagrams. Around the margins, fading notes indicated important lines here and there.

"No." Mike replied. "But I know where to get one." He tore his eyes from the pages for a second, turning to Oscar. "I don't suppose you want to learn magic with me?" He inquired.

"Not particularly." Oscar shrugged. "Too many fiddly bits for my taste. Good steel and armor does me fine."

Mike nodded and pulled himself onto the bench. "Well, I'll be here for at least a few minutes reading this. If you want, the area just up that path-" He pointed to the stairs winding up to the aqueduct, "-is quite easy, just weak hollows in little to no armor. Clearing the way while I read certainly wouldn't hurt."

Oscar mulled over this for a few minutes as Mike began to flip through the little book, sharp eyes picking out important text in the jumble of scholarly words. It appeared to be a scholarly textbook, for beginners, if the notes in the margins were any indication. Through the medium of lofty, often over-long chapters Mike discerned some of the more basic principles of magic; it came from souls, usually the light variety, if directed incorrectly it was rather dangerous, especially to the caster, and it was explicitly said in clear text towards the end: never overuse magic. That led to magic-sickness and more often than not death, both of which were foul afflictions.

What he'd thought was some sort of runic language in the robes at the Asylum were actually script for magic; how it was used wasn't stated in Logan's book.

To acquire the information, Mike suffered through pages and pages of scholarly babble, smart people letting other, less smart people know they were superior by making their work unreadable. They were like lawyers, except with blue lights here in Lordran. A talk with Logan was in order when they met. Looking at the sun, Mike realized it didn't move, and he had no idea how much time had passed as he read. His body didn't even let him know if he was tired or not, infuriatingly. Turning to Crestfallen, it appeared the knight hadn't moved a muscle, save for perhaps his eyelids. Whether or not he could even move was questionable, though he looked up when Mike approached him.

"Hello again. Sorry for bothering you, but how long have I been reading, if you've kept track?" Mike asked the knight. Crestfallen seemed genuinely surprised Mike was even talking to him, though his face was difficult to read.

"Oh... something like an hour or so. I'm surprised you didn't finish sooner." The knight admitted. "Though, it would've been amusing to see the Astoran knight return for you."

"He may yet. I intend to go below for a moment, do tell him if he returns." Mike was halfway down the steps to the left of the knight when he made a split-second decision and turned, asking "how long have you been here, then?"

The knight chuckled dryly. "Long enough to remember the flooding of New Londo being news. I was a boy then, before undeath took me." He sighed and turned back to the bonfire, purposefully ignoring further questioning. Shrugging, Mike continued down the steps, carefully avoiding a few pieces of yellow pottery scattered on the stairs.

Mike's heart clenched when he saw Anastasia lying on the ground behind bars, blankly looking out beyond the shrine. Her head flicked in his direction as he slowly approached, grass rustling around his feet. She looked up at him curiously, like a spooked deer.

"Hello Anastasia." If she could've looked more surprised, Mike assumed she would've. Anastasia's eyes widened significantly as he neared, slowly lowering to his knees in front of her cage. "And I will help you get out of there, if you'd let me." He extended a hand through the bars, palm up. Anastasia stared at it, and him, in confusion.

"I come from across the sea, bearing knowledge of potential future events. In every one of them, you stay in your cage, broken or healed." Anastasia shook her head when he spoke the second option. "I know, you think you deserve your afflictions. I think otherwise, especially given the state of things at the moment. Whoever did this to you obviously weren't the smartest folk, given that the fire is dying anyway."

Anastasia stared at him for a second, surprise in her eyes. Slowly, she nodded, glancing at her legs, pressed uncomfortably under her, twisted in ways they shouldn't be. Her hand was warm and surprisingly soft when she pressed it into his, nodding. When he stood, Mike shuffled through the items in his satchel for a second before drawing out Logan's book from within.

"I suppose you're bored in there, and I've got most of this down, for the moment. I don't have a catalyst, but this'll give you something to do, for now." Anastasia took the book with trembling hands, her fingers gently running across the soft papers surface. Mike pretended not to notice the dampness at the corners of her eyes when she looked back up at him, mouth open but unable to speak.

"I'll work on fixing that too." Mike said, nodding to her legs and tongue, or lack thereof. "I've a few ideas, though they're out of reach for the moment. If you need anything in the meantime, throw a rock at anyone that passes and direct them to me, and I'll be here." Anastasia nodded and waved timidly as he turned to leave, the book held in her off hand. Out of the corner of his vision, Mike spotted her opening it as he turned to descend further.

The elevator was just as he recalled it, except for the rust covered chains and general feeling of danger as it descended. The metal links of the mechanism clinked and rattled furiously as it descended, brown flakes piling up on the edge of the platform. Mike made sure to avoid the walls as they flew by, unwilling to lose an appendage to them. When it slowed to a stop, he was relieved to step off and immediately lurch to the ground, a hand over his mouth.

If there was one way to describe the smell that filled the air of New Londo, it was despairing. The cold, misty breeze that fluttered through the air brought with it decay and hopelessness, rot and age. It was enough to bring Mike's last meal of peanut butter and jelly up from his stomach, acid churning its way into his mouth. He barely contained the mess, staggering to his feet before he fell face first onto the stairs below.

Suddenly, Mike found himself glaring in the direction of Ingward's spot, far in the distance. The church was barely perceptible from where he was, a dark outline in the dark of the city. His thoughts about playing nice became muddied with dislike for the sorcerer, despite his magical advances.

Remembering his plan, Mike staggered drunkenly down the steps to his left, barely stopping to snatch a large soul mass from a corpse tucked into a corner. His feet rapidly drew him to Rickert, ignoring the hollows between him and the mage.

"How do you... handle this?!" Mike asked, exasperated. He grimaced as rubble under his feet skittered down the steps below, to plop into the water quietly. Rickert looked up from a small, leather bound book he was slowly writing in, raising a questioning brow.

"The smell." Mike gagged.

"Years of it. It never really gets better, either. Just a matter of ignoring it." Rickert carefully blew on his writing to dry it before folding the book and tucking it into a hidden pocket in his robes. "I'm Rickert, anyhow. I've a few magical services, if you have need of such."

Mike nodded, pinching his nose tightly. When he spoke, his voice was nasally sounding. "I read a copy of Logan's Basic Principles of Magic, and figured you could help me a little that way. I don't have the copy right now, but I remember most of the main ideas."

Rickert appeared to grow larger as Mike watched. "A magic enthusiast then! It's been a few decades, but I recall the most important bits, let me find a spare staff and spell paper." Mike felt a small, childish part of him swell as the mage, (an actual mage!), began digging through his pockets, from which he pulled out a slip of blue paper, roughly the size of a piece of printer paper. Mike was instantly intrigued by the kaleidoscopic swirl of symbols occupying mos of the page, tightly packed symbols running into each other and in circles. Just staring at it too long made his head hurt.

"What's all this?" Mike asked Rickert, waving at the paper.

Rickert's lips dipped slightly from their upward arch. "Well... Honestly, I couldn't say. Much of Seath's teachings of old were lost hundreds, if not thousands of years ago." He admitted. "We've a tiny scrap of that remaining, and many of us cannot even comprehend it. Much of the Soul Arrow spell line was derived from a species of butterfly that has been extinct since the time of Izalith. Most outsiders don't really know how little we actually know."

Mike took a few moments to hold the page up to his face, poring overt the tiny script as much as the pain in his head would allow. If he had to liken it to anything, it would be a very unusual looking piece of code written on paper, and then bent and twisted into swirling patterns that hurt to look at. This fueled his drive to eventually learn magic, if not from Griggs and Rickert, than Logan.

"Well, how do I use it?" Mike asked. Rickert pursed his lips and dug around in his robes once more, withdrawing a staff from within.

"Have you been started?" The mage asked.

Mike frowned, shaking his head in confusion. "Never heard of it."

"Ah. I suppose Logan wouldn't focus on something such as that, assuming his book was used by young mages. I'll need a moment to gather myself, then I can find your magic for you." Mike nodded.

"So, what exactly needs to be done?" He asked curiously as Rickert closed his eyes, clasping his hands together.

"I'll send a quick burst of magic into you, hopefully it'll wake your own. Usually much more advanced mages do these things, but I'm the only one for miles, at least that I know of." Apparently finished, Rickert extended both hands. Mike laid his own on the mage's, the cloth of his robes swishing as he leaned forward.

"There." Rickert drew back slowly, shaking his hands as though ridding them of dirt. "It should take effect in a few minutes, I suggest you are sitting when it does." He nodded at the water nearby.

"What'll it feel like, the magic?" Mike asked as he bent into a sitting position. Looking at his palms, they looked none changed.

Rickert hummed for a few seconds, placing a hand on his chin. "I suppose... like a slight pressure in your head, just behind your brows. It'll be like moving your ears, for a while. Thinking in intangible space is quite tough for most, but you'll get the hang after a few days or so. There's not much else to it, really, except for spellwork. All I'll say on that is that it is dangerous, and you would be smart to never toy with it without an expert, and I doubt you'll find any of those nearby."

Mike was about to speak when a slight push suddenly jumbled his thoughts, his head falling forward as the feeling disturbed his motor control.

"It has begun." Rickert said sagely. Mike grit his teeth and pushed through the uncomfortable stretching feeling happening inside his skull, lifting his head from his chest sharply. Everything seemed to slow down as he prodded at the spot in his head trying to escape through his ears, the invisible feeling swelling and receding rapidly. After a while it seemed to shrink into a corner of his brain, leaving him lightheaded and dizzy.

"Interesting, isn't it?" Rickert grinned as he said this. "Haven't seen someone Started for years, reminds me of when I was so long ago."

"Uh... Yeah." Mike said lightly. His eyes were unfocused and turned to the left, in his head he was trying to imagine a tendril of magic feeling its way towards the spell scroll next to him. He could feel the slight draw on his energy as he prodded the air, eventually finding the edge of the scroll. It lit up like a beacon as he siphoned energy from his mind into the paper, forming a stable mass that pushed the boundaries of the weak physical object it was contained within. When he found the staff, Mike tugged the spell toward it gently, trying to hold it together as he moved it. When it finally slid into place in the smooth stick, the whole thing visibly glowed for a few seconds before releasing a fully formed soul arrow, its pointed tip leaving blue streaks in its wake before dissipating somewhere over the water to his right.

Rickert clapped as he followed the little light with his eyes, turning back to Mike when it was gone. "Wonderful! I suppose now you can go out into the world and do as you may. If you have need of further magic or smithing, which I can offer, I will do so for souls."

"I'll take you up on one of those." Mike said immediately. "I'll need some paper and writing utensils, and some translated runes, if you've any to spare."

Rickert dug furiously in his clothes for a few seconds, before drawing a large stack of paper, ink wells, and quills from within them, presumably from a bottomless box or some such magic. It appeared Mike had been correct in assuming he had been prepared to spend a great deal of time down here.

"I would say... two thousand souls, because you're a beginning mage."

"Done." Mike replied immediately. He passed over the souls and carefully slid the papers, which were primarily bound into a large tome, into his satchel, along with the sealed ink and quills.

"It's been wonderful, truly." Rickert said as Mike turned. Mike nodded and waved at the smith as he climbed to his feet.

"Indeed. If you ever want to come up to Firelink, I'll be bringing a few people there eventually. Mages, too." Rickert nodded, a thoughtful look on his face as Mike left. The ride up to the shrine passed in a blur as he fired off soul arrows at the walls, creating little blue flashes whenever he did. Now that he had successfully done it once, he could reach and connect himself with the spell, pushing magic through the link quicker and quicker. When he was at the top of the ascent, he staggered as the lift came to a jarring halt.

"Ugh." Mike said through heavy lips. He hadn't noticed it as he'd casted, but his magic was moving slowly, and he was slightly cold. It felt like he'd just climbed the Eiffel tower on an empty stomach, and he found himself sagging slightly as he moved towards the bonfire. Anastasia looked up from the book he'd given her to wave, a small smile on her face.

At the bonfire, he sat on the stone bench from before, leaning sideways. Before he knew it, Mike had fallen asleep where he sat.

Www

Mike woke with little fanfare, blearily blinking his eyes as he sat up. His side was sore from lying on the stone bench, but the bonfire flared softly and healed him as soon as he started rubbing his ribs. His staff was still in his right hand, as plain as ever. Mike sat there for a few minutes as the fog cleared from his brain, and he could think.

When his senses grew sharp, and he could stand, Mike tucked his staff into the sleeve of his robe, where it would be easily accessible if needed, not that it would be of much use at the moment. Brushing his mind against the magic he now had, it appeared the mass of energy had grown, if only a little. Might get ten shots off now, Mike thought as he wandered up into the shrine. Oscar would doubtless be looking for him soon, unless he'd gone farther than Mike expected.

At least it was nice in the shrine, much nicer than the game was. The tree next to the bonfire was actually present this time around, and the grass and other plants waving slowly in the wind was beautiful in the angled sunlight. A faint, slightly sulfurous smell occasionally wafted up from the ravine nearby, breaking the illusion of peace, but otherwise all was calm in the shrine.

Then Mike saw Petrus. Mixed emotions bubbled up in him as he thought of how to approach the cleric. His peaceful nature led Mike to want to simply pass by. Thoughts of Rhea and her companions, however, brought up hate and annoyance, at the cleric's pompous attitude. Mike mulled for a few minutes, standing just out of sight of Petrus. When he did come to a conclusion, Mike simply forced his face into one of boredom before bringing himself to stand before the armored man.

Petrus was just as large, and pompous as one would presume. His ridiculous bowl cut was slightly shaggy around the edges, and his face was more weathered then expected, but his eyes still looked down his nose at Mike when he approached.

"Yes?" Petrus said with a barely concealed sneer. Mike kept his guise of boredom up as he pointed at the plain talisman in the larger man's belt.

"A cleric then? I don't suppose you could teach me anything about miracles, then?" Mike relaxed his limbs and assumed a generic impatient position.

"Hmm. I… could, I suppose." Petrus sighed. "But first, you must enter a covenant with the Way, you understand?" Mike nearly flinched when the cleric held both hands forward in front of him, before Petrus pointed at his own hands.

"Oh." Mike said, understanding. "I… prefer my own covenant, thank you. Guess I'll see you around then."

A hand tapped Mikes shoulder when he tried passing Petrus, and the cleric pressed a warm disc into his palm. "See to it that you don't, if we've no business." The sneer was openly apparent as Mike nodded and continued walking. The copper coin Petrus had given him was stamped with the image of a man on one side, ancient but powerful looking, and a handful of patriotic words in tiny English, or whatever that was called here, on the other side. Mike pocketed it as he began up the stairs behind the church.

A handful of souls off the corpse, and Mike had an idea. As carefully as possible, he jumped from the landing to a small ledge on the church, just a little under a foot wide. The vines growing across the stone gave him handholds and footholds where necessary as he edged his way around the building, until he was at the ledge upon which undead returned to the asylum.

This brings a whole new world of exploits to life. Mike thought with a grin as he made his way down to the elevator once more. Dropping a pebble reduced the black pit to a ten or fifteen foot drop, give or take. After running his hands over as many bricks as possible, all of which were too smooth to climb, Mike decided on dropping. Dangling by his fingertips, he fell not two seconds before dropping into a crouch, his knees burning.

The tunnel to the hidden corner of the shrine was just wide enough that Mike could walk through facing forward, how Petrus managed was beyond him. Perhaps he threw his things up from the graveyard and then climbed from there. It would be quite the job, however, as the boxes littering the ground were rather large, and constructed of hefty wood.

"Bones… one red orb, no three… mace." Mike quickly shuffled through the boxes, picking out a handful of useful things and leaving the rest, mostly Petrus's personal affects like oversized clothing and armor, behind. Mike did grab one pair of sturdy pants from the bottom of one box, replacing his own tattered pair with them, and a belt found in the same container. The cloth was loose and flexible, but tough enough to maybe not flake off whenever Mike fell, as his old pair did.

The graveyard was rather like Mike expected. To his left, gravestones. To the front, gravestones. To his right, a path… leading through gravestones. Mike grimaced when he realized there were no skeletons nearby. That meant they would probably tear themselves from the ground, probably in showers of dirt, and if he was lucky, they would even be rotting, browned, or covered in bugs. This hypothesis proved itself correct when Mike dropped down into the open entrance to the cemetery.

The yell that left Mike was one Petrus and Crestfallen could probably hear, as twin bursts of dirt appeared directly in front of him. Thankfully, his only targets were right at the entrance to the place, so he didn't have far to run. Clacking came from behind Mike as he turned right and began darting between gravestones, heading for a cluster just a little ways off.

The ground rumbled underfoot as Mike yanked a light blue shield from its dead owners hands, the mace he'd picked up dropping to the ground as the rumbling increased. Mike hastily slid the shield under the leather strap his first shield was attached to as he grabbed the rolling weapon. Seconds after he sprang from the rumbling ground, Mike was showered in dirt as a ribcage the size of his entire body exploded from the dirt, quickly followed by hands big enough to hold him like a doll. Suffice to say, Mike shrieked when the skull found its way out of the ground, twisting around in its socket to stare straight at him.

"Nope!" Mike yelled as he bolted from the scene, circling around the central mound of stones until he was back where he started. Fueled by adrenaline, he snatched a white orb tucked into the curve of the curled up body the first two skeletons stood next to before they even noticed him. Both went flying as he kicked their legs out from under them, literally. The next pair didn't have time to fully assemble before Mike kicked their skulls off the cliff side, grabbing those souls before bolting.

Two more soul masses were made his before Mike came to a stop near where Laurentius would eventually be, breathing heavily. Inside his satchel, the accumulation of soul masses was starting to build up, sizes ranging from as small as a golf ball to as big as a fist. Mike soon found these to be simply too large to continue toting around when he turned another obscure corner in the shrine, coming across the second to last corpse there. After digging through generic, filthy clothing for a few minutes, Mike pulled a leather bag from inside the corpse's shirt. Its contents clacked together like oversized marbles as Mike held them aloft, far from his body.

It was the six firebombs that pushed his bag's capacity to the limit, the flap refusing to fold down. Mike dug through the bottom and came up with most of the souls within, which he placed on the ground before him carefully. After securing the firebombs where they wouldn't all out and blow off his legs, Mike took each soul mass and broke it, bringing him to a little more than 1800 souls. Just before he left Mike remembered to gently lift a trio of black wisps from the corpse on the well.

Oscar was, to Mike's surprise, waiting patiently at the top of the curving stairs leading to the Burg. Just out of sight from the shrine, the knight was carefully preforming a myriad of different movements with his sword, hollows nowhere to be seen. Mike jumped back when he turned with his sword extended, the blade dancing through the air until it slid home in his sheath.

"Ah, you're done." Oscar gestured behind himself. "Just practicing a bit, not good to get soft, even if we're immortal."

"Agreed. I picked up a staff and some 'fiddly bits' with Rickert, and this-" Mike held up his new shield "-from the graveyard. I think we are a go."

"I've cleared a few more hollows past this point, but I was wary of going so far as to have them be revived." Oscar said as Mike collected another soul mass. A second was hanging from the aqueduct, the corpse falling into the ravine below as soon as the souls were taken.

Mike brought out his hatchet and Caduceus shield when he finally entered the duct. The rat to the left was already gone, no humanity in its place. Mike looked at the ground as he sloshed through the shallow water, surprised at the relatively clean state it was in. Torches only half-lit the walls, many burnt out or entirely missing.

"Completely dead. Lordran apparently ran on some sort of magical torch that few to none could so much as move without them burning out. I see no reason myself to interfere with them." Mike nodded and began up the stairs.

"These?" He asked as he neared the top.

"This was where I stopped myself." Oscar said, bringing out his weapons.

"There are two hollows just around this corner, and a third throwing firebombs to their left. Watch the edge of the buildings when you get near, falling is almost certain death." Oscar nodded and moved his shield in front of him. Mike awkwardly tried holding his staff with the same hand he held his shield, eventually ending up just letting the end poke out above the edge of it. He followed Oscar up the last few stairs and was immediately startled as a hollow jumped, hitting his companion, hit him. Without thinking Mike lashed out, his hatchet penetrating thin leather and flesh at the base of the hollow's neck. Oscar turned and slashed the next, this one slowly ambling up to him. Its shield fell to the ground along with its arm, shortly followed by its body.

"That was good, but try and watch to see if I am attacking before you do." Mike nodded his acknowledgement.

"Let me try something." He said as they neared the next corner. Leaning out, he gathered his magic and shot a soul arrow at the firebomb wielding hollow just ahead. It staggered when the spell hit it, dropping its current firebomb. A second cast did little more than the first, merely agitating it.

"Darn. Alright, you can get it Oscar." As the hollow was tugging a new firebomb from the bag on its hip, Oscar walked forward and impaled it in one movement, kicking the hollow into the ravine behind it. Mike followed, casting a hasty soul arrow at the hollow in the building nearby before slashing across its chest. Another spell finished it, along with the rest of Mike's magic.

"Alright, don't panic at the drake." Mike said softly when Oscar followed him into the next building. The building was constructed primarily of stone, with ancient wooden supports holding up a spotty wooden ceiling. Oscar froze at the entrance as Mike located a corpse under the stairs directly ahead, the soul mass it held of decent size.

"A… drake?" Oscar said slowly, following behind Mike much like a little kid when he began up the stairs. A smile crept its way onto Mikes face as he watched Oscar warily scanning the sky once they were outside, his posture rigid and stiff.

"A big one." Mike indicated an area just in front of the stairs. "Wait here. It'll just do a flyby to taunt us."

Indeed, the drake did a flyby, this one of a different sort. Mike cringed back as an arc of crimson fire sprayed across the short bridge before him. The ground was immediately scorched back, and the smell of burning hair filled the air. If Mike wasn't mistaken, he'd also heard a muffled screech from behind him, not that he would bring it up.

A new question presented itself to Mike as he directed Oscar ahead, distracting a hollow as the knight took out two. Doubt gnawed at the young undead as he pointed and blasted the hollow crossbowman with a soul arrow, distracting it just long enough for Oscar to knee it hard in the chest, sending it tumbling backwards off the ledge it stood upon. Looking over the rubble littered with broken weapons and scraps of armor, Mike doubtfully considered his worth in a fight against something more intelligent than a hollow.

"You've got a decent aim with that staff." Oscar noted after Mike sifted through the left behind stuff. All he cared for was the crossbow left from the armored hollow, dropped when it was kicked. Sighting it against one of the nearby hollows brought back memories of him hunting with his father, years before when he was little more than a kid. The remaining bolt in its mechanism found its next him in the side of the hollow he'd aimed at, making it stagger a little.

"And that crossbow. A hunter?"

"Not for a while. Mike said as he slid the crossbow over his shoulder with his shield. It might come in handy if his magic ran out, as it was now. Hopefully, that didn't happen in a boss fight. Or any major fight, for that matter.

"I used to hunt with my father, long before I came here. Mostly big stuff, deer and turkey, and the like." The bonfire burst into flame easily, the undead savoring the warmth.

"Ah. I did so myself on occasion." Since the two had no particularly grievous wounds, they turned to leave the small alcove the bonfire was tucked in. Just before Oscar had stepped from the room, however, Mike paused and looked back a the bonfire, remembering his souls.

"Hold on a second Oscar." Mike said as he stepped back to the flame. "Is using souls as a method of strengthening viable in this world?"

Oscar stepped up besides Mike and nodded. "Yes. Though, do not feel any guilt at the act, for they aren't really souls." Mike looked up at Oscar, surprised. "They are the energy left when someone's true soul sheds its body and is reborn."

"Someone's a bit of a bookworm then?" Mike inquired, raising a brow. Oscar shifted on his feet a little.

"…somewhat. It was something more than sitting or standing in place for five to six hours at a time. " Oscar waved a hand at the bonfire. "Just pass it the souls and think of what part of you you wish to strengthen. Oh, and here." Mike jumped when Oscar laid a hand on his own. All at once, a rush of souls sent him to the ground, heaving.

"Why?" Mike asked, when the feeling had passed.

"I don't like using such a method to grow. I have seen too many good men fallen to hunting souls for power." A note of sadness echoed in the knights voice.

"Oh. Well, I guess I'll go with… yes. That'll do finely." Mike held a hand over the flame, manhandling most of his souls into the bonfire as he focused on one thing. A few seconds later, a brilliant golden spark burst from the flames, falling on his palm, where it winked out.

"Well?" Oscar asked him when he turned to the entrance. "What did you choose?"

Mike winked at him. "You'll see. Or not. You might notice, anyway." Mike couldn't help but test his new strength by kicking a rock as soon as they left the room. The stone went flying over the edge, and looking carefully, Mike could find no sign of harm anywhere on his foot, despite the kick. Now he needed but a pair of shoes to wear. Maybe the merchant would have a pair…


	5. Chapter V

The sun shining, as usual in the Burg, Mike retraced his and Oscar's steps back to the bonfire they'd been at a while. Oscar fiddled with a short bow, tightening the string or some such. Mike had never been one for bows. In his own hands, Mike played with a small wooden box the undead merchant they'd just left had sold him, after haggling the price down to 900 souls. The grain of the wood was fine and whirling, numerous knots pock marking the wood. Just a little larger than a smartphone, the box was rather weighty, and the inside appeared to be painted entirely black.

"Can't believe a bottomless box is this small." Mike admitted as he and Oscar paused at the bonfire, the knight slinging his bow over his shoulder besides him.

"Is that what that is? I've heard rumors of them, but never seen one myself." Mike flipped open the lid of the box to show Oscar the inky depths, experimentally poking at it with a crossbow bolt. the weapon slid into the blackness smoothly, followed by Mikes fingers. Pushing further, Mike was boggled by the magic that must've been working on the box, for when his arm grew wider than the wood the material seemed to waver, then stretch outward with slight resistance.

"Freaky." Oscar commented.

"Yup." Mike withdrew his arm, and the box shrank back down to its normal size. "Quite freaky. Useful though." Mike began searching his person, removing every loose item not immediately of use. His feet felt light against the ground when he was done, and he was rid of the crossbow weighing on his back. The bottomless box fit easily into his satchel, and when he looked up, Oscar was already traversing the bridge outside the bonfire room, sword drawn. Mike followed not far behind, pausing at the doorway across the bridge to accost the hollows overhead with magic. Two died before Mike found he was running on empty. Using the last bit of energy he could afford, he fired once more at the third firebomb throwing hollow, momentarily stunning it. Oscar was blocking a strike from the final hollow in the next room when Mike drove his hatchet into its neck, killing it. The other two had already been dispatched, and by the look of the shattered barrels and crates around, they had taken Oscar by surprise.

'Watch your three." Mike warned Oscar as they passed a grimy window revealing a hollow. Oscar paused at the doorway, allowing the hollow to step outside before he rammed into it with the edge of his shield, shattering its left arm. Mike jumped past him to deliver a crushing blow to its skull, where the rusting helm on its head was already deeply cracked.

"I don't understand." Oscar said as they ascended into the next location. Mike retrieved and began loading his crossbow as Oscar drew an arrow. "My three?"

"Oh, sorry." Mike fired, killing a hollow loosely clutching a firebomb. "Military term from where I'm from. Imagine you're standing in the center of a clock, and twelve is straight ahead. Your three is right."

"An unusual phrase, er, phrases I suppose. That would make six behind you, and nine your left, correct?" Oscar was quicker, killing the last hollow first.

"Yeah." Mike tossed Oscar a key before turning left. "That's for the building over there. One moment." Climbing the stairs and killing the hollow took seconds, and Mike paused at the top to look around. From his vantage he could see all of the middle burg sprawled out behind him, the upper burg shrouded by the massive wall they were soon to pass.

Oscar was killing the last hollow blocking their way with his bow when Mike found him outside the building he'd indicated. Even the hollow atop the stairs had been offed, its barrel unmoved. From there it was a short jog up to the boss arena. Or, it would be, if not for the small part of Mike's mind throwing a fit about the remaining enemy quietly standing below them, facing away from any potential threats. Mike valiantly fought the urge to assault the Black Knight, considering the useless ring past it, and easily farmable drops. Mike mulled for five or ten seconds, at least he thought so. Oscar was extending a hand to nudge him when he turned to the knight.

"Anything down there?" Oscar asked while pointing to the stairs. Mike cringed, his head slowly turning to the cracked stone stairs.

"...Yeah." Mike sighed. His collecting side had won. "A black knight, once one of Gwyn's personal bunch. It's guarding a blue tearstone ring. Killing it wouldn't hurt though, if we got it's shield or some titanite."

Oscar thoughtfully placed a hand on his chin, humming to himself. Mike gathered three small wooden jars from a box nearby as the knight came to a decision. "If it wouldn't be much of a hindrance, I suppose we could attempt it, though the thought chills me. It is not intelligent, I assume?"

"Nope. The best way to do it would probably be to lure it to the ladder in front of this building and just hit it with spells, firebombs, and whatever we can drop on it." Mike pulled out a quiver of crossbow bolts and lifted his staff. "Luring it out is the difficult part."

Oscar pondered for a moment. "If we take it by surprise, we might be able to stagger it, if we hit it hard and fast enough. That should give us adequate time for retreat."

"Sounds good." Mike agreed. Looking between his crossbow and staff, he eventually tucked the plain wooden rod back into his sleeve. He prepared a bolt before dropping down to the cobbled stone street below, followed by Oscar. Nervousness washed over Mike in a wave as they began down the stairs to their left. even the Asylum Demon hadn't been this scary, so slow was it. How was Oscar so composed in the face of one of Gwyn's personal knights, made insane from years or fire he didn't know. Mike slowly uncapped a jar of gold pine resin and dipped his next bolt into it before passing it to Oscar.

Mike felt a bead of sweat slowly creep down his forehead as they neared the knight, raising their weapons. Mike aimed for a small gap at the back of the knight's knee, while Oscar aimed for its neck. Why was this so terrifying? Maybe it was the way the knight smelled of iron - dried blood, Mike presumed. Possibly it was the deep rasp of breathing coming from its mouth, or the way its armor looked half-melted, rows of tiny, jagged spikes facing to the left, as though it'd been subject to a massive gust of wind. It also seemed far darker than normal in the alleyway, Mike even saw Oscar casting startled glances at the wall as the light drastically receded.

Looking to his companion, Mike nodded once and turned to the Black Knight. He hoped he looked far more ready than he felt. Oscar's finger fell from his bowstring seconds after Mike pulled the release on his crossbow, the recoil slamming into his shoulder painfully. He hadn't been aware of it, but he'd held the crossbow a little ways from his shoulder, enough to momentarily stagger him. _Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh-_ Mike's thoughts froze as the knight turned, ignoring both arrows buried in its skin. Eyes like saucers, Mike watched through a film of _oh shit_ as the knight spun around and kicked in a single swift movement, surprising both undead. Oscar went flying down the alleyway as the knight turned to Mike.

Asked later, Mike could only faintly recall his flight from the black knight. Panicking, he remembered sticking his left arm out behind him as he raced up the stairs two at a time, spells exploding from his staff at random. At some point he threw his crossbow, how else would it have left his grasp, to become debris under the feet of the knight. Somehow, he managed to just barely ascend the stairs without injury, excepting a small bruise where a piece of brick fell on his right foot. The rest became a blur of running and jumping, though oscar managed to catch most of it by the time he had recovered and raced after them.

Oscar would recount later that he'd, slightly incredulously, watched as the black knight hurled itself off the Burg, disappearing into the ravine below. He had seen Mike hanging by his fingertips from the edge of the Burg, and had jumped when a black spike erupted from the younger undead's chest, just as he threw his arms over the edge of the road. Oscar had barely grabbed Mike's hands before his eyes dulled and he fell slack.

As it was, it took the knight nearly ten minutes to wrestle Mike from the edge of the road, where the black knight sword was slightly embedded in the stone. When he woke up at the bonfire, Mike nearly hyperventilated upon seeing the Black Knight Sword discarded on the floor nearby, streaked with red. When he turned to Oscar, the knight was languidly leaning back against a tattered yellow sack in the corner, his upper chestpiece and shirt missing, leaving little of his torso unexposed. He looked up at Mike as the undead slowly stood, a hand flying to his chest as a cold breeze swept through his shirt, which was bloodstained and sheared down the center when he looked at it. Nervously, Mike lifted the hem of the tunic, where the sword had pierced his chest. a harsh, spiked red line ran up from his navel to just under his chin, the flesh highly sensitive to touch.

"The sword went up more than I anticipated when I pulled you up." Oscar spoke. Mike jumped, when had the knight gotten up to stand beside him?

"Pull me up? Mike frowned. He remembered the sword being in his chest... but how had it gotten there, and where had he been pulled up from? Why was the sight of the ebony blade so deeply terrifying?

"What happened? I don't... everything becomes a blur after we walked down the stairs." Mike stared at the sword on the floor as Oscar pulled his shirt from the sack, which appeared to be filled with golden sand. Likely he'd produced this with their recently purchased repair box, which crystallized and enchanted souls to fix things.

Mike absentmindedly lifted the sword from the floor as Oscar donned his newly repaired shirt, the fabric smooth and clean, somehow. The sword weighed much more than he could lift with one hand, he'd have to use both hands if ever he was to practically use it. A conversation they'd had earlier that day floated to the surface of his conscious as Mike stared a the blade.

 _"I see you're admiring little Yulia, yes, she's quite pretty." The merchant cackled. He'd noticed Mike looking at the shining silver uchigatana laid across the merchant's lap, polished lovingly to a mirror's shine. The blade cast a thin line of light against the wall nearby._

 _"Now, she's not for sale, not now, not never." The merchant placed a hand over the hilt of the sword protectively. "Though, if you want, it's been a short while since I practiced with her. I saw you walloping hollows over the way." he indicated the upper areas of the Burg. "I could show you a little, for a price..."_

 _Mike shook his head. "Perhaps another time." He returned to perusing the merchant's items, Oscar ready with a bow behind him._

Perhaps he might take up that offer now. So said Sun Tzu; "To know your enemy, you must become your enemy." Yeah, he might've read _The Art of War_ a little too often, in his 'I want to be a ninja' phase back in sixth grade. In foresight, declining the offer, and not preparing with Oscar was probably pretty stupid, as was assuming the Black Knight's strength based on a work of fiction. Then again, he was in a work of fiction, so...

"Hey, remember that offer the merchant made me before?" Mike asked, turning to Oscar. The knight skeptically looked into the sword still held in Mike's hands, then to his face.

"You cannot use that in training, either you'll underestimate its strength and kill him, or he'll wipe the floor with you endlessly." Oscar shook his head. "You'll want a smaller, more practical sword to begin with."

"Duh." Mike carefully turned the sword so that it was pointed at his bottomless box at his side, which it slid into with ease, disappearing from sight. "I can barely hold it, much less use it. Not that I want to."

Perhaps, for the time being a shortsword would do, it was just light enough for him to hold in one hand. That put a slight damper on Mike's fighting spirit, that little more than a long knife was almost too heavy for him to practically use. Perhaps a little intensive strength training was in order eventually.

"What do you suppose I should do while you learn the sword? At shortest our recruits used to take a year or two to learn _basics_." Oscar crossed his arms and shifted on his feet.

Oscars was right, how would he learn? Mike carefully slipped the baldric holding the short sword over his shoulder, adjusting his shield for the new belt.

"Um, that's a great question. My answer would have to be something about the bonfires and not having to sleep I guess. I'll give it a week, maybe. Whatever constitutes a week without time and all. I'd say it'll be a good investment, considering the black knights are usually pretty slow enemies. As for you, I guess you could... I don't know, do some intensive training with me and Merchant-guy?" Wow, he had as much a plan now as he did going into college. Oh joy.

"Intensive... training?" Oscar said slowly, confusion tinging his voice.

"You haven't figured it out?" Wait, this was a medieval setting, they probably didn't have anatomy down yet. "Where I cone from, we studied the body for medicinal reasons. Basically, using a muscle extensively tears it internally, and my assumption is that the bonfires heal that. The thing is, when your muscles heal, they become stronger, as a way to prevent further injury."

Oscars head whipped up. "Then, if you were to train near a bonfire, it would be accelerated... more than tenfold! I can't believe this hasn't been discovered before, even before the curse we had fires dotting the land."

Mike nodded sagely. "That's only a hunch, though. If the bonfire heals without any change, that might make it less effective. We'll probably have to train, then wait for the effects to become stuck to us, like this." He lifted his shirt to show off the scar on his chest.

"True. Still, this seems quite powerful." Oscar said.

"We'll see. Let's go round up that merchant, and see what can be done."

* * *

"Five humanity."

Oscar seemed almost to recoil at the merchant's asked price. Mike shrugged and pulled out the required amount, the man could damn well use them at his stage of hollowing. He seemed to agree, the black sprites bursting all at once as soon as he had a hold of them. Accompanied by dry cackling, the man began hastily stuffing his property, table and all, into a bottomless box somewhere in the tattered folds of his clothes. With seeming reverence he lifted his sword, Yulia, and slid the well oiled strap over his shoulder.

"Well?" The merchant said when he turned back to Mike and Oscar. "Where we going? I'll need to pop by a bonfire first, of course. Been outta estus for at least a hundred years. I think. Something like that." He paused, scratching a spot on his chin. "Oh, name's Altin!" A shriveled hand was extended to Mike.

As it turned out, Altin was rather nice to talk to after regaining his humanity, and with it a little sanity. The chuckling died out rapidly after he noticed it, and he seemed slightly embarrassed with what he'd charged for the most basic sword training. He was confirmed to be eastern when he returned from the bonfire human, build as thin as Mike, and a little taller. His black hair was chopped short with a knife, and he wore a more solid outfit of loose fitting black pants and a dark leather vest.

From what he could recall, he had once come to Lordran with a group of others, with the same intent as Mike and Oscar. They'd rang the first bell when their group was fractured, members drifting off to different parts of Lordran for assorted reasons. He could recall little more than that, not even their names or how many were with him.

"What of your home prior to Lordran?" Mike asked, once, as they were passing through the beginning of the Burg. They were headed to Firelink, an adequate place to work on swords training.

"The east." Altin replied immediately. A frown creased his face as he realized what he'd said. "I was... a swordsman, of course. I think I had a brother, or a sister? Something like that. I encountered the rest of my group travelling here."

"I feel for you." Mike said, firing a soul arrow at a hollow ahead. "I come from across the sea, no clue how I washed up here. I did, and they clapped me in irons because I was undead. Oscar rescued me from the Asylum, where I was going hollow."

"That's rough. Twice we were chased down for undeath. Twice we outran them choking down estus like we worked in a whorehouse." Altin chuckled. "I miss those days."

"It's been a time." Altin said quietly when they stepped from the aqueduct. Mike carefully shoved a hollow nearby off the ledge, sending it to the ravine below.

"Just a little further." Mike said as he extended his right arm. With careful aim he knocked the firebomb throwing hollow below off the edge, and staggered the next one. Altin reached it with a quick dash, decapitating it with a swift draw of Yulia.

"Ah, just as smooth as before, at least." He said, lowering the blade of his sword. A moment later his hand jerked and the uchigatana fell to the ground as he clutched his elbow. "Agh! Joints, not so much." After retrieving the blade, he led the party down to the shrine proper. Crestfallen was the first to notice the group's approach, his usual countenance scrunching into one of surprise as they all tapped the top of the bonfire.

"Not hollow yet." Mike reassured the dour man. Altin paused to look the scruffy looking knight up and down, before nodding and plopping down right next to him, scattering a mess of plants and small rubble.

"...Excuse me?" Crestfallen said, bewildered.

"You're excused." Altin promptly replied. "No offense, but I like this seat. Move if you like, but you may find I am quiet, and reserved in my movements." Mike stifled a bubble of laughter at the face Crestfallen made.

"So, when do we start?" Mike asked as Altin began digging through his bottomless box. The eastern man held up a pale hand as he lifted a plain longsword, testing its weight with a few careful swings.

"Now." Mike yelled out as a sword slapped across his ribs, more from shock than pain. Holy crap, how did the eastern man move so fast?! Seconds after registering the hit, Altin spun around and out of Mike's sight, and the cold slap of steel hit the back of his neck, likely bruising.

"Ah! Give me a second to get-"

"Ah ah, no time for preparing in a fight!" Altin stopped to Mikes right, cocking a brow. "Unless you give up already?"

Like hell this half-cracked merchant would get the better of him! Mike brought his primary hand up to the sword hilt over his right shoulder, left smoothly pulling the small blue shield from his back. Gripping the hilt of his sword, Mike grinned as Altin moved just into range-

"Ah!" Shit. Mike flailed for a few seconds before falling face-first into the ground. Of course pulling a sword out that way, over-the-shoulder, wouldn't work with a straight weapon, or really, just about any, for that matter. Except the Iato. This might take a bit longer than anticipated.

* * *

 **Now, I could probably do a whole training montage thing. Tons of skips, 'every day he grew some more,' yadda yadda. Nah. Nothing more to see here.**

* * *

"Hey Altin?" Mike asked through teeth grit in pain. His left arm was numb from bruising, and there were a few thin lacerations around his torso. He and the eastern swordsman stood a bit away from the bonfire, near where Laurentius would eventually be. Altin had said something along the lines of "better you experience it now" when he'd started using the edge of his sword, and Mike had made a sarcastic remark that'd earned him two more lashes from its edge.

"Yes?" Altin said as he sidestepped a swing from Mike's shortsword, which he'd quickly adjusted to. Occasionally, he used soul arrow to misdirect Altin.

"What time is it when a demon sits on your fence?" Mike faked a stumble as Altin hesitated. The swordsman was about to reply when Mike caught himself, his shield clashing with the sloppy block Altin attempted with his sword. The point of his shortsword rested against the underside of Altin's chin, surprise evident in his eyes.

"Time to start praying, for where there are demons, there is chaos." Altin said calmly. Mike jerked back as Altin dropped his sword and slammed a fist into his shield at the same time, the bones in his hand audibly cracking. With his good hand Altin wrestled Mike's sword from his grip and turned it on him, whippijng the flat of the blade against both of the younger undead's wrists in quick succession.

"That's enough!" Altin exclaimed, nursing his injured hand.

"Why?" Mike asked, forearms turning red. Had he passed some point where Altin could teach him no more in the time they had left? Did he have a mission for him to go on, to retrieve or accomplish some task?

"Because." Altin shrugged. "That should be good enough for most hollows. In the unlikely case you encounter another, more superior undead, you'd best run, and let Oscar do the dirty work, unless you have a few more years to spare?"

"Oh." That made sense, Mike supposed. Even with the bonfires and lack of sleep, they'd been at it almost non-stop for what felt like weeks. How long it'd actually been, nobody could be sure. But it was probably weeks.

"Well, thanks then." Mike extended a hand. "I guess it's back to the Burg then."

"Don't go getting stabbed this time!" Altin cackled. "It'd make this training kaput!"

"I'll try not to." Mike replied dryly. His relatively new scar still itched, and even the strength training they'd gone through, which was primarily composed of the two of them donning overweight sets of heavy steel cuffs around their shoulders, wrists, and ankles. As Mike said his goodbyes to the swordsman he shucked the restricting, weighty gear, stretching without it for the first time in days.

At first, the training had been exhausting, physically and mentally. Both of the combatants had fallen more than once to overexertion, Mike to magic overuse once. It'd taken... right, time. Well, it'd taken some time for the both of them to become accustomed to constant movement, Mike learning the flow as Altin readjusted to it. They'd fallen into a good system fairly soon, and after that the training had just been much repetition. Much, much repetition.

Oscar had stopped by occasionally during their training, sometimes joining in. Those had been the most interesting mock fights, managing two opponents attacking each other and yourself at the same time. Mostly though, he spent time accruing scraps of armor from the undead in the Burg, after Mike told him about Andre in the Parish. He had vehemently refused to use the armor in Darkroot Garden, so he would have Andre melt down the scrap he rightfully earned and forge him new armor from it. Possibly, the smith might even have a spare change of clothes for the both of them, too.

"Are you ready for this?" Oscar asked Mike as they neared the Burg's wall. Mike looked up, studying the massive structure. Was he?

"Yep." Arm extended, the staff tied to his forearm glowed briefly, firing off a decently sized soul arrow. The magic bypassed the shield of a hollow ahead, disrupting it's soul to the point of killing it. At least, that was how Rickert explained magic damaging living things.

"Well then, let's go." Oscar began climbing the stairs up to the tower leading to the Taurus demon. Mike stuffed a hand in his bottomless box as he followed him, tugging a pair of items from within.

"Hey, I have an idea. Ever heard of crystal lizards?" Miek asked as he caught up with Oscar. Hopefully the one above was still present.

"No, but I assume they're lizards, somehow related to crystals." They turned and began climbing the stairs to the second floor.

"Spot on. They also have a habit of teleporting away when threatened, and can grow really big if they consume enough souls. Want to see if we can catch one?" Mike looked to the right as they reached the topmost floor of the tower. A multitude of barrels were pressed into a corner, tightly shut and inconspicuous. Mike zeroed in on the one the furthest right, waving Oscar over.

"Pry open the lid as fast as you can, I'll try and grab it." He handed Oscar a shortsword to pry with. When he was in position, the knight spoke.

"Why catch it?" He asked as Mike held up his hand. Mike nearly blurted out 'it's shiny' in response.

"You'll see." Mike said. After pressing an ear to the barrel, he nodded and lowered his hand. Something had scrabbled over the wood at the sound of their voices.

Oscar pried up the top quickly and efficiently, grabbing the edge of the barrel to yank away the lid as Mike dove inside. The crystal lizard was small - little more than the length of his hand. It was probably a juvenile, based on the size, and the barely formed black scales over cool blue skin. Eight legs scrabbled for something to latch onto as Mike gently lifted it into his arms, taking the first item from his bottomless box and holding it out to the lizard. It latched onto the soul mass with four of its feet, curling around it like a squirrel. Its movements ceased immediately, and it sank into the folds of his shirt teething the souls.

"You know, it's mildly horrific that I'm holding a soul consuming monster." Mike said as he ran a hand over the tiny bumps forming along the lizard's back.

"A soul consuming monster is standing beside you." Oscar said as he tossed the barrel lid aside. Mike heard him gasp as he neared.

"That's titanite!" The knight exclaimed loudly.

"Yep. Scales from her." Mike said, before shushing him. When he received a surprised look from Oscar, he shrugged. "Had a really zealous biology teacher. Anyway, I think I'll name her Lily, because eventually, she'll hopefully bloom into a beautiful large crystal lizard. Also, because it's short and easy to remember."

Oscar was carefully lifting the barrel from its spot as Mike tucked Lily, barely larger than his hand, into a pocket on his pants, which were more than large enough to accommodate the small creature. When he looked back to the knight, he was carefully scraping ten or so titanite shard sized scales into a pile, which he then gently picked up one by one. Mike held out his bottomless box and snickered at the awed look the knight had as he deposited the metal.

"That's... simply incredible. That one is a youth you say?" Oscar pointed at Lily.

"Yep. Adolescents are a little longer than a foot, and somewhere after that they grow about twice as tall as a man, and way more vicious." Mike tucked his box into his satchel and stepped up to the fog gate. "Anyway, you ready?"

Oscar placed a hand on the hilt of his sword, nodding. "When you are."

Mike placed a hand on the fog and slid through the barrier, a gust of wind meeting him on the other side.


	6. Chapter VI

Mike groaned and placed a hand on his face, pausing to regain his breath. So far, the fighting had gone well enough. The hollows had been a joke to dispatch across the wall, and they had decided that Oscar would be the one to drop onto the demon after Mike lured it across to him. The knight had been prepared, his sword in hand, as Mike led the demon back towards him.

Then, following a crunch and a yell, Oscar had disappeared from the top of the tower, leaving Mike alone with the demon to contend with. That brought him to his current predicament, almost out of magic, with the demon barely slowed. Yelling for Oscar had been fruitless, and the Taurus demon was relentless in its attack, far faster than it normally moved. Just staying out of range was a chore.

Mike jumped back as a whoosh of air preceded a wide swing of the demon's ax, which, notably, the weapon made of countless bones was. Made of dull tan bone, it had a terribly wicked edge, and the demon wielded it with enormous strength. Even as he watched, the section of stone wall Mike had just stood on was sheared from the rest, collapsing down the side in a shower of rubble.

"Dammit." Mike swore, running forward and left of the demon as it brought its ax up for a chopping attack. It stopped mid swing and spun it around for a counter, only to find him missing, having turned around its right leg, back in front of it. Mike swung at its ankles as best as he could with his shortsword - he'd given Oscar all of the golden pine resin before the fight, and had nothing else to buff with.

The demon roared angrily, kicking up its right foot in retaliation. Mike grunted as a claw caught him in the gut, sending him tumbling to the ground with a hole in his chest. He grimaced and rolled out of the way of a deadly stomp, carefully maneuvering Lily as he got to his feet. This fight was wearing on him, the demon was just too strong and fast, even with all of his extra training! It was no wonder there were so many hollows outside, they'd had to contend with this monster!

He could homeward bone, maybe fight his way back through the Burg and figure out where Oscar had gone. With the knight, this fight would be far easier, especially with his already reinforced sword. They would kill the demon-

"Oh crap." Mike's eyes widened at the last moment as his satchel, which held everything he owned, got caught on the edge of the demon's ax. He was yanked forward for a split second as he grabbed wildly at the strap, a thin, old piece of leather, before the whole thing went flying over the side of the wall.

"Right, I suppose I'll need to pay you back for that one." Mike said as he gripped the hilt of his sword tightly. with his left hand he slung his shield over his shoulder, pulling his staff from his sleeve. He made a mad dash for the demon's legs as he began pooling magic into the second item he'd removed from his satchel earlier, a piece of carefully rolled up blue paper.

The demon ran to face his challenge head on, ax gripped tightly in its claws. It brought the blade of the enormous weapon up above it as Mike drew close. Mike squinted up at the primed attack as it grew near, thinking quickly. When it fell, he was ready, a sudden burst of speed pushing him past the edge seconds before it sank into the bricks underfoot. The edge of his sword drew a red line around the circumference of the demon's left ankle as he spun between its legs, stabbing the other twice for good measure before he backed off, the exit behind him now.

At least four or five thoughts tried crowding into the front of Mike's brain as the Taurus demon pried its ax from the wall. The observation that it didn't actually smell as bad as he'd expected, or the slight jerk it gave as it slipped in a pool of blood, his or its own, underfoot. The realization that a silhouette had appeared on the far side of the arena, hand on its head as it climbed to its feet was what got Mike's attention as he recognized the half-armored form of his companion looking in his direction. Suddenly filled with a burst of adrenaline, the third in the last few minutes, Mike waited for the demon to begin another overhead swing.

It didn't take long for the swing to come. Left arm outstretched, Mike was ready to face the attack head on as the demon leaned back, thinking him an easy target standing still. When the ax was seconds from reaching the vertex of its arc, Mike jumped at the demon, startling it from the sudden movement. It was unprepared for him when he kicked off the ground, grabbing large handfuls of its fur as it staggered slightly.

Mike glanced down at his staff for a half second, the end heating up considerably under the pressure of the magic within. Was this really necessary, using an untested spell against the Taurus demon? For all he knew, it would end up fizzling out and Oscar would, again, bail him out. He glanced up, to be met with an open maw of teeth bared in anger. Without thinking Mike jammed the end of his staff straight up into the jaw, grazing his hand on the teeth as the recoil from the spell jarred his arm. Briefly, his vision was filled with glaring blue, before everything went dark.

* * *

"You are stupid." Floated a voice as Mike cracked open an eye. Looking around slowly, he was reassured of his health when he caught sight of Oscar standing nearby with his estus flask in hand.

"I've been told. What happened?" the last bits of the fight came back to him in spotty pieces, though he could recall falling quite clearly. He was not a fan.

"You used whatever spell that was, and then exploded. You caught fire _after_ hitting the ground." Mike looked down at his hip when Oscar pointed towards it. That explained the hot itching feeling there. A frown creased his face when he saw the epicenter of the black circle on his clothes, the pocket that'd held his modified spell. That was unfortunate, he'd spent nearly thirty minutes reading through the tiny rows of runes to locate what he _thought_ were the numbers designating the power of the spell. In hindsight, those might've been the range, or the speed of the spell, or really any other aspect of it. He _had_ been rushed in its production, but now he needed a new soul arrow spell, because that had been next to the modified version when they'd both gone up in flame.

"Oh, thanks for the heal. But what happened to the demon? And you?" Mike looked around, the Taurus demon was nowhere to be seen.

"It fell. I think it tried using its ax to keep itself up." Oscar turned and showed Mike the edge of the weapon, which was hooked over the edge of the bridge. "Not sure if it died, though. None of us gained any souls."

"Darn. Looks like the fog wall's down, let's get on that before it resets or something." With help from Oscar Mike got to his feet, unsteadily walking on shaky legs.

"Actually, hold on." Mike turned, running back to where the demon had fallen. It took all of his strength just to lift the ax it'd left behind up onto the wall, and Oscar was required to pull it further.

"Don't worry." Mike reassured the knight as they entered the tower on the far side of the wall. "I think I saw my bottomless box go flying this way." The ax thumped loudly down the stairs, breaking numerous bricks along the way.

"This better be worth it." Oscar muttered.

"So what happened on the tower back there?" Mike asked as they turned to face the next set of stairs.

"The boards covering the stairs broke under my weight, and I hit my head on the bottom." Oscar brought a hand up to his forehead, where a large scuff marred the front of his helmet.

"Ouch. Well, you saw what happened outside, mostly." Mike said. He paused after stepping from the doorway on the wall, looking for his satchel along the bridge or the small area Solaire was on. Oscar heaved a sigh and left the ax leaning against the wall.

"Hey, that guy's an Astoran named Solaire. He's weird, but possibly one of the only people in all of Lordran that won't try and kill or harm us. I'll look for- Aha!" Mike looked around before dashing out onto the bridge to snatch his satchel from where it was being stared down by a hollow holding a spear. He heard metal clanging loudly on stone and ducked into the stairwell to his right seconds before the drake screeched, raining fire down on the bridge.

"MIKE!" Roared an irritated voice back across the bridge. "YOU COULD'VE WARNED ME!"

"Sorry!" Mike yelled back, poking his head up over the top of the stairs. Oscar was pulling himself to his feet behind the edge of the wall, where he'd avoided the flames, and as he watched Solaire came running up the steps. Mike turned to look at the drake with slight irritation before turning back to the knights. "I'll be there in a second, wait for me!"

Oscar nodded, and Solaire waved cheerfully in his direction as Mike turned and made his way down the steps. In his pocket, Lily twisted and turned to find a more comfortable sleeping position, tiny claws poking into Mike's thigh. The bonfire room was far larger from above, hell, they could've probably added two or three more floors during construction to properly use the space up. The ladder also could've been better placed, or simply not necessary if they hadn't destroyed the stairs. The rusted metal took far longer than it had any right to in becoming unstuck, and required one irritated bang from a sword too many to get moving when it was unstuck.

Mike clambered down and kicked the bottom of the ladder as he left. The burg was just as empty as he and Oscar had left it, quiet and devoid of life. As he was turning to return to the bridge a small flicker in the bonfire caught his attention. A sudden flurry of hot, white ash sent Mike reeling, sword coming free of its sheath as a pair of figures appeared in the middle of the room. Oscar shook ash from his helm as Solaire hurried to Mike, stepping right into his personal space like a friendly neighbor.

"Hello Sir Mike!" Solaire said a little too loudly. "Oscar has told me all about you!" Mike gave the elite knight a questioning look. He shrugged in response.

"I, uh, yeah." Mike paused, holding up a hand. "Sorry, you're a little fast. Took me by surprise for a moment. Solaire, adherent to the Lord of Sunlight, nice to meet you. I take it, by your presence, you're joining us?"

"Astute!" Solaire nodded. "Oscar told me you were heading in the same way as I, at least for a time. That, and your description brought me here."

"Hm. Well, if you've a rope, we can ignore the drake entirely." Mike said. Turning to the ladder he'd kicked down, he explained "we can just go under the bridge through here."

"The drake won't fly down and attack us from the sides?" Oscar asked, leaning out the doorway to study the bridge above.

"Hopefully. I think the drake is just really territorial, like the smaller versions we'll encounter later." Mike shrugged. "It's that, or we go say hello to a Havel knight."

"Bridge." Solaire said quickly. "I think I have an adequate rope, how long must it be?"

"Three or four feet should do." Mike said as he began to climb the ladder. Solaire and Oscar followed one at a time, the latter warily watching the joint where the bottom half of the ladder connected to the top. Even without the majority of his armor, the knight weighted well over 200 pounds, and had fallen down crumbling stairs more than once in the Burg.

"What a view!" Solaire commented when they stepped outside of the column. The sun's glare was heavily present so far above the buildings, and Solaire seemed to grow taller just admiring the view.

"It's nice, but wait 'till we get to the first bell. Tallest building down here short of Sen's fortress, and we'll not be going there for a while." Mike said, stepping up beside the knight. He let some amusement show on his face as Oscar slowly stepped up to the edge, keeping a firm hand on the brickwork to his right. Height's never bothered Mike, but cramped spaces? Absolutely horrifying things, all stuffy, and probably dark.

"So Solaire, what's your story? I wrecked here and went insane-ish, and Oscar was caught in a snowstorm and spat out years later. What got you going?" Mike curiously turned his head to face the taller knight. What he knew of him was vague; the name of his homeland and his drive to find 'his own sun.' This was the prime time to expand his knowledge on the knight.

"Me?" Solaire seemed slightly incredulous, and for a moment he was silent as they began carefully stepping around one of the bridge's supports. "Well, It begins in Astora, some fifty or sixty years ago, by my reckoning." Oscar made a slight choking sound, and Mike was startled by the revelation. Solaire was older than both of them!

"I was a boy when they first came around, wiping any remaining memories of Gwyn's firstborn from the records. They began centuries before my lifetime, but little things seemed to always remain. I could go on about how harsh life was for my family then, especially after our crops were destroyed in the hunt, but nobody wants to hear that. What's most important is that they found us, and one day the family farm, hundreds of years of heritage, went up in flame, along with my parents, for 'harboring illegal contraband.' Contraband that'd been buried two feet down a mile away." Solaire stopped to regain his breath, giving Mike and Oscar a few moments to finish scurrying across the small ledge. Mike prepared his shortsword as they began across the next ledge, Solaire now between him and Oscar.

"I was already a young man, moved into the city to begin training with an uncle, so I saw none of it. What I heard of it from our neighbors, however, was horrific. So I left and came here, where I've been since."

"Fighting for the firstborn." Mike finished. "Wow. That's... wow. I can't believe you're seventy or eighty."

"Neither can I!" Solaire laughed. The next few seconds were filled with the clash of metal as Mike quickly circled and dispatched the hollow soldier waiting for them in the next gap between supports.

"Almost there." Mike said as he stepped onto the next ledge. He almost fell off when Solaire spoke up once more.

"So, what will you do, if you do complete this 'undead prophecy?'" He asked casually, Making up for Mike's sudden locking up by hurling a spear of lightning at the hollow ahead, before it could stab the frozen undead.

"I..." Mike trailed off. "I guess I'll... Huh. I haven't thought that far ahead."

"Interesting." Solaire mused as they stepped into the next room. Oscar, looking quite relieved, began dispatching the rats aimlessly scuttling about. "One would think foresight would set a goal in someone's mind, that they'd find something to work toward."

"I guess I just wanted to get out of the Asylum when I woke up, and I got caught up in just advancing from there." Mike said quietly, unflinching as a rat was kicked past him and over the edge of the Burg. Looking back, how much of what he'd done so far had been routine, another lazy playthrough of this story? The asylum went as normal, but the Burg had proven slightly problematic, for a little while. The Taurus demon had been a pain, but when things moved that fast, what wasn't? What if he started getting lazy, and let the usual events play out for the others?

 _"I didn't expect him to actually think this hard."_ Solaire said softly to Oscar, somewhere in front of Mike. His mind wandered circles around the different plotlines and events in Lordran, which were good, bad, or somewhere in between.

"It's like a midlife crisis, but I'm deciding the fate of a world instead. Intense." Mike said slowly as he pulled from his stupor. "To answer the question, I guess for now, I-" Mike saw Oscar looking his way. "-w _e're_ going to be working on the undead prophecy, and then we'll go from there.' Mike stopped to look at Solaire with a critical eye. "Are you sure you're not supposed to be somewhere else right now? You're way too good for us Solaire."

"Thank you." Solaire said warmly. "I haven't had someone say something so nice to me since... Well, it's been some time." He chuckled.

"It's time you get that ropout, wee need it up here." Mike said as he led the knights up the ladder going into the upper Burg. "Don't go up there." He warned Oscar when they were at the top, pointing to the stairs leading up higher. "A black knight with a bigger sword than the last."

"I sense a story there." Solaire said as he handed Mike a fraying rope twisted into a tight bundle. Threading the rope through the gate, and then getting it around the lever on the other side was difficult, but not impossible. Solaire seemed surprised when the gate smoothly rose into the ceiling.

"Unusual design." He noted, nodding at the lever.

"Very." Oscar agreed.

Solaire then proceeded to, once more, surprise Mike with his choice of words. Shuffling through what Mike assumed was a bottomless box tucked into his armor, he began to pull out handfuls of sunlight medals as he talked. "Say, you two wouldn't mind if I joined you, would you? I find your company much more, ah, 'interesting' than my own."

Mike and Oscar shared a look, simultaneously nodding. "Sure." Mike said.

"I don't mind another countryman." Oscar agreed. "Even an old one."

"And the old jokes begin. I had a feeling this would occur, though I thought our prophet would be the first offender." Solaire mock huffed and turned to the sunlight altar, holding an armload of bright orange medals.

"I am not a prophet!" Mike retorted. After a few minutes of quiet, he added, "and honestly, if anyone's old here in Lordran, it'd be Logan."

"The Logan?" Solaire asked when he returned, medals replaced with a single, light yellow scroll. 'As in, the one with the large hat?" He pointed to his head in explanation.

"The one." Mike confirmed. "I'd wager two hundred years. Not that I have a good scale to go on. I've got as good a handle on historical time as Oscar."

"Hey!" The knight in question exclaimed. They fell silent shortly after, the sound of flesh splitting under a trio of blades filling the air.

"I think that might've been _slight_ overkill." Mike said as the body of a hollow fell tot he ground, sans an arm and its life. The hollow had futilely rebounded off of Oscar's shield before it was assaulted mercilessly by the three of them. Mike nearly pitied it. Nearly.

"A little." Oscar agreed.

"Anyway, I present to you two: the Upper Burg! If you look ahead, you might see our famous hollow boar attraction, renowned for being far faster than it has any right to be." Indeed, up ahead was the armored boar, standing eerily still in the middle of the road. The foul smell of burning corpses filled the air, and a low ceiling of smoke hovered over the street, the wind doing little to repel it. Hollows lazed about, one notable case leaning left until it bumped into a wall, at which point it righted itself before repeating the process.

"I've never seen a boar of that size before." Solaire said as he squinted at the animal. "Nor with steel plating."

"Hollowing has a tendency of turning animals larger and/or more dangerous. It's quite a nuisance, really." Solaire nodded in agreement.

"Have you ever seen a hollow dog?" He asked. "Horrifying! They're so fast!"

Oscar shuddered. "Yes, but the wolves are worse tenfold. Once, I and a few others were surrounded by a pack of hollow wolves, all beady red eyes and snarls. One actually managed to gnaw through my armor before I got it off."

"Truly, that must've been quite the experience." Solaire said. Mike found himself too tied up in his crossbow to respond, the weapon up and primed. He carefully directed the end toward the farthest hollow from them, aiming for its head. The knights follow his line of sight to the hollow, which jerked back when a bolt struck its shoulder.

"Good shot!" Solaire applauded Mike.

"Wait." Mike held up a hand. The hollow was looking around with dull red eyes, one foot turned toward the gate behind it, and the lever it seemed to enjoy pulling. Mike sighed when it relaxed back into a normal position, slowly turning to face them once again. Only fifteen seconds had passed.

"I get it." Oscar said suddenly, startling Mike. His eyes wandered up the side of the buildings around them, and they went back to the hollow. "Let me." He said as he pulled the bow from his back. He prepared a shot much faster than Mike, and when his arrow flew, it punched through the hollow's left eye at the end of its arc.

"Nice." Mike said. "Now we do it like normal, that just makes things easier." Solaire continued to look between the fading hollow and Mike as they pressed on. Oscar blocked a slow stab from a hollow hiding around a corner, and Mike felled it with his sword. The going was rather smooth, Oscar and Solaire easily falling into defensive roles, with Mike using his crossbow over and around their shields. Both of the men seemed surprised when Mike took a bag holding five or six skulls glowing a soft blue color. The air was soon filled with the smell of hot metal and burning pork, and then the boar was gone.

"Rather anticlimactic." Oscar said when the area was clean of hollows.

"Don't get too excited." Mike said cheerfully. "We've yet to meet any Balder knights. This place has like, seven of them. Some even parry." He added a slight bit of enthusiasm to his voice toward the end.

"They've...?" Oscar asked.

"Sword and board. Some normal, the ones with rapiers parry. There're three up ahead." Oscar immediately threw up his shield.

"Not yet. One will attack when you reach the churches doorway, one is left behind the door, and the other farther ahead. I gotta grab something." Mike turned to the small tunnel heading downward, the usual path forward. "I'll catch up in a second, don't go past the pews of the church."

"Three knights, no pews. Got it." They lifted their shields and were moving forward when Mike entered the tunnel heading downward. He lifted the wooden shield he'd acquired in the Burg and was especially careful as he moved through the next few enemies. Though loathe to admit it, he'd died one too many times to the _naked_ hollows in this building to try and rush it, especially with actual pain being a consequence of dying now. Mike met up with the Astorans a few minutes later, both circling a rapier wielding Balder knight. They dispatched it with deadly efficiency, spinning to Mike as he entered the church.

"Nice place, huh?" Mike asked. He pointed out the channeler above before filling its vision with a crossbow bolt. Both knights lept back in surprise as its form slumped and fell to the ground in front of them. "Right nasty fellow. Too bad we didn't get his trident." Indeed, the golden weapon dissipated along with the rest of its form.

"A channeler, of the Duke's?" Oscar said slowly. "Why is it here?"

"He's nuts, and likes to kidnap and experiment on young women." Mike explained. In response to the undead's flabbergasted looks, he shrugged and added "I don't make this up, wait until we get there. You guys will hate him. Probably."

Oscar lifted his visor and massaged his forehead. "Right. We're also going to the Duke's. Wonderful. Lead me to the bonfire, I need a moment to sit and make sense of this."


	7. Chapter VII

Oscar woke to a cacophony of sound surrounding himself, a keening whine followed by a solid "t'chunk," finished with a high pitched ringing that echoed through the chapel thrice before disappearing. Oscar was thoroughly irritated by the time he removed himself from the building, his head felt muggy and slow, the effects of the concussion only worsened by the ringing and keening and thumping bouncing around in his helm.

After idly making his way to the church courtyard Oscar found Solaire, the warrior in the process of parrying a spear with his large shield. After the next move the hollow died, leaving Oscar to approach Solaire.

"Oh!" Solaire exclaimed loudly as he turned around. "Hello there, good to see you up and moving!" The Sunlight warrior began to make his way toward a set of stairs to the left as he spoke, waving for Oscar to follow.

"Our young friend is below the smithy, currently making battle with a demon of enormous strength. After conversing with him some time ago, he directed me to here, so I can both hone my skills, and my steel. Apparently, the large red clad knights here can leave titanite upon their deaths, alongside being worthy enemies. I've been challenging them for near two hours now, care to join me?" Before waiting for an answer Solaire turned aside the rapidly descending blade of a Balder knight, before slamming a golden lance of lightning into its chest with his talisman. As the knight disappeared Solaire stooped to retrieve a pair of weighty gloves it had dropped, tucking them into a leather satchel on his back.

"The smith below also buys steel for souls, wouldn't you know? Quite a charming fellow, from Astora like us! I'm starting to think we Astorans have been drawn here for a reason!" The sunlight warrior chuckled as he loosed another lightning spear at a hollow a little ways ahead, killing it easily.

"Eh, not really." Oscar said as he followed Solaire through the church. "Apparently, there are a pair of dragon scholars around here, a Catarinan fellow, someone from somewhere called 'Zena,' a witch, a god, a few fire keeps scattered around, and some Cariminians."

Solaire stopped to stare at his companion. "Well than." He exclaimed slowly. "That is a fair few people. I don't suppose our young friend spoke more of them?" Oscar shook his head.

"He spoke of it all when we were coming front he Asylum, and hasn't returned to the topic since. He has noted that a few of them we will soon encounter, though I do not see where we would." Solaire nodded and the two continued onward, Oscar raising his sword in preparation as a pair of Balder knights turned to them.

* * *

Mike heaved a great sigh as his hundred and seventh bolt struck the titanite demon, staggering it for what would be the final movements of its life. The next moment a battle axe came down on the demons neck, digging deep into its dense flesh. A second, and then third strike finally ended its life, its last movements being a flick of its tail in an attempt to fend off its attacker.

After it disappeared, Mike was left with a dinner plate sized slab of demonic titanite, the very air around it swimming with a whining magic that dulled the senses and left Mike disoriented for a brief moment. Lazuli similarly slumped on his shoulder, scratching at her head as the magic pervaded her senses.

"Gross." Mike exclaimed as he picked up the cold, oily metal, hastily pushing it into his bottomless box. When he was done, all that was left of the demon was a handful of burns across Mike's left arm where he had taken the brunt of a lightning strike from its staff.

Mike took a moment after he stepped into darkroot to stretch and take a deep breath, the muggy air thick with the scent of earth and plants. With a casual gait he then entered the great forest, his axe two handed in preparation.

The bush-tree-Ent things from Oolacile were surprisingly durable, for as loose and viney as they looked. That did not deter the young chosen undead, however, as he hacked at them with his axe, giving the forest the first proper trimming in centuries. Leaving a trail of chopped wood behind him, Mike delved deep into the trees, his spare chain clothing quickly acquiring a film of wetness due to the air and flora. To counter this, a now clean iron manacle was drawn from the recesses of Mikes bottomless box, having been placed there not long after acquiring the useful tool. With it firmly clasped around his wrist, the water fell off as though it were repelled by some unseen force, falling to the ground in sheets as it ceased to stick to him.

Lazuli nipped at every plant that surrounded the two as they continued through brush and up a path, the cliff to their left falling away to reveal a thick canopy of trees, and a not so safe fall to unknown depths below. The ground there grew softer and wetter as they continued onward, three more vine demons assaulting them before Mike came upon a large stone wall jutting from the underbrush.

Mike found himself stumped as he tried finding his way through the wall to the left, nothing as much as budging it. Cursing to himself, he eventually resorted to climbing directly over it, using the loose stones to the right of the usual illusory wall. With a little work, and a fair deal more swearing, Mike found himself on top of the wall, where he noticed something peculiar.

"So much for Andre's seal." Mike said to himself as he looked over the door to his right, easily by passable from his position. He could see through the trees a small grey tower far in the distance, and farther than that, a drop where the river that cut through darkroot was.

Ignoring those things, Mike dropped onto the small ledge beyond the wall, where hid the bonfire of this area. After lighting it he was forced to repeat his earlier process of climbing the wall using bricks and ingenuity, Lazuli staring at anything that made light all the while, namely the sun far above and the numerous magical flowers dotting the path around them.

Bypassing the trio of vine demons to the right after taking the semi hidden path, Mike pressed through a thick white fog into the forest proper, the trees around blocking most everything from view. After trying to make out anything in the underbrush clogging the place, Mike began the arduous process of following the leftmost wall, taking care to crush a vine demon into the ground before it could surprise him later.

As Mike approached a shriveled body lying atop a rusted spear a hiss came from over his shoulder. No, the hiss came from his shoulder, namely Lazuli, who was intensely focused on the poisonous tree lizard hiding under some leaves just in front of Mike.

"Laz, wait-" Mike's hands were too slow to catch the lizard as she dove from her usual perch, nimbly clinging to the tree with pointed claws as she landed atop the green serpent melding with its environment. With a loud crunch she closed her jaws over its necks, killing it instantly.

"Uhhh, what." As Mike watched the reptile fade into souls Lazuli clambered back up his side, returning to her position clutching his right shoulder.

"Right, partisan." Mike remembered, shaking the spear from the clutches of its previous owner. After giving it a sprinkle of repair powder the weapon was dropped unceremoniously into his bottomless box, where it would no doubt spend the rest of eternity.

Lazuli chirruped as Mike ran a hand down her back as they walked, her crystalline blue scales cool to the touch. After dispatching another bright green serpent, the small lizard promptly fell asleep chewing on a loose strand of Mikes dark hair, small wheezing sighs escaping from her with every breath.

Mike grimaced as he came upon one of his least favorite enemies from nearly any game, said suit of armor briefly glowing as it flared to life due to his presence. Despite the thick undergrown in its way, the knight had absolutely no problems lumbering after Mike after tearing its arms from under the roots of a tree that had grown around it. Mike sighed as he readied his catalyst, preemptively charging a heavy soul arrow.

The knight put up a great deal of a fight to the lesser experienced human, leaving Mike breathing heavily as it fell backwards in its death, crushing small trees and vines as it slammed to the earth. After exploding into souls the only remains of the golems presence was a large imprint in the underbrush, and even that slowly began returning to its normal shape after a while.

"Hm." Mike muttered quietly to himself as he searched a small bush for what he knew should be somewhere nearby. Unfortunately for him, that was not the case, the usual sign nowhere to be found inside the clustered weeds and stone. With a sigh Mike stepped out of the bush, tugging a small blue shield from his bottomless box in preparation.

As soon as he was in the butterfly arena, Mike sneezed loudly, startling Lazuli. The small crystal lizard then did the same, the cause sparkling in the air nearby. Motes of crystalline pollen puffed from the cups of flowers of every color as Mike walked along the bridge, the Moonlight Butterfly having decided to take its time in flying down.

The buzzing began almost as soon as the butterfly appeared, stopping Mikes first spell before it fully formed as he suddenly became unfocused. The air around him seemed to spin with magic as he tried forming a spell, different runes he hadn't seen in the book Rickert had sold him flaring briefly in the edges of his vision every time he closed his eyes. Lazuli, being a creature of magic, fared worse, drunkenly slumping atop Mike's shoulder as the raw magic in the air overtook them.

Mike continued trying to fire off spells, even as a number of bright flares of light shot through his shield, leaving him feeling sore and overworked by the time the butterfly stopped. Each blast of magic brought with it another wave of unknown runes, these ones bunching into groups whenever Mike focused on them.

By the time the butterfly landed, Mike was confident he had bitten off more than he could chew. The sheer magic the thing exuded would've been totally overwhelming to anyone not a mage, and even then, it threw him off to the point of making him nearly useless.

Then came the laser. Mike was confident he would dodge it, the beam of magic moving in a nearly straight line at a snails pace posed absolutely zero threat.

"Whoops." Mike mumbled to himself as he stumbled on a rock, his mind so overwhelmed he could barely note its presence while looking directly at the brick sitting in the middle of the bridge.

A bright light began to crowd out Mikes vision, burning away scenery and stone in front of him as it grew larger. In confusion, the mage raised his right hand to shield his eyes from the light, before lazily raising his face to view a laser not a fingers width from his nose.

Then everything exploded in a myriad of blues and harsh white, a torrent of roaring sound reaching his ears before the magic overwhelmed them, rendering him deaf. A wordless yell of surprise was all that could escape Mikes mouth before his brain overloaded, his body exploding into a flare of souls as he died.

* * *

For the second time since he had woken up in Lordran, Mike woke to find pink fingers on the ground in front of him, clenched around ash, the bonfires ash. He had died, to nothing less than a mega evolved pokemon that shouldn't have even existed.

"Ugh. Mike moaned, his face falling back to the ground as he suddenly felt a wave of sheer exhaustion fall over himself. He felt empty, no, worse than empty. It felt as though a limb had been removed from his being, the space inside of him once inhabited by souls and humanity aching as he thought of them.

With feeble hands he scrounged through his bottomless box, eventually drawing out a mass of souls and a humanity, both disappearing as he crushed them instantly. After a moment the pyromancer signed heavily, propping himself up against the bricks behind him as he embraced the warmth of the humanity, and the fullness of the souls.

After a few minutes of staring into the bonfire, Mikes most recent memories slammed into him with the force of a small freight train, visibly startling him as his eyes snapped open. Lazuli, the butterfly, his death, it all seemed to flare before his eyes in an instant, leaving Mike incredibly worried for his usual companion, and irritated at the confounding power of the butterfly. Perhaps it was to do with the fact that he wasn't viewing it from behind a screen, and magic worked in ways he hadn't expected.

One thing, however, continued flaring into Mike's mind every time he closed his eyes, a bright, moving mass of numbers and runes that whorled and shifted as though they were alive. Out of curiosity the amateur mage removed a sheet of bright blue paper from his bottomless box, followed by a small feather pen and some ink.

With pen in hand, and eyes shut, the runes came to him faster than a mosquito in summer, stretching across the page in long strings of gibberish that formed a large splotch of confusing when Mike opened his eyes to see what he had made. Unsure of what to make of it, Mike tucked away the new scroll into a pouch on his belt, to figure out later.

Now sure of his location, Mike bolted through the trees and plants as fast as his feet could take him, vine demons popping up occasionally as he bypassed them. Past the first golem he ran, and up the stairs to the boss fog. After bracing himself, he stepped onto the bridge.

Now knowing what to expect, Mike managed to hold against the butterfly's power more than he had before, his eyes staying mostly focused as he made his way across the bridge, dodging lasers and blasts of loose magic as he went.

Lazuli was right where she had fallen, lying limply on top of a green-white mass of souls and humanity that was greedily accepted by Mike as he crouched before them. After scooping Lazuli under his left arm, Mike felt something that hadn't properly taken root during his short time in Lordran.

Anger. No surprise, it was bound to come to any undead that attempted the prophecy given by Oscar that hadn't, or didn't know the emotion. Fortunately for Mike, he hadn't felt it until then, else he might've made stupid mistakes, blinding as the emotion tended to be.

This, however, was different. When Mike looked to the butterfly lazily hovering before him, he felt a deep rooted anger that hadn't made itself known to him for years, not since he had exploded on his….

Never mind, that was behind him. Taking a deep breath, Mike felt for his magic, wrapping it tightly around the new paper tucked into his belt. The resulting spell felt different from his others, broken up and chaotic, almost too much to properly control.

His staff exploded, a screaming vortex of sound engulfing Mike as white and blue light tore holes through the air in front of him, blinding him enough to leave spots in his vision long after the spell had ended. The butterfly stood no chance against the pure, uncontrolled power held in the short blast, the white light utterly obliterating its body in a flare of light that lit up the whole wood. The disappearing of its wings went unseen as Mike narrowed in on a bright blue mass that appeared in place of the butterfly, magnetically moving in his direction as he examined what remained of his staff.

The end of his staff was entirely obliterated, nothing in its place to show that he had ever held more than a small stick in his hand. His hands ached from the rogue power that'd run through them, the skin a shade paler than usual because of it.

Without hesitation Mike drove his mind toward the soul, exploring it in every manner he could as he held the warm mass in his palms. Flashes came to him as he stared into its depths, the butterfly in different phases of its life as it grew, its surroundings, the power it held, all in the memory of the soul.

The soul, however, didn't feel… full. It felt as though it was a mere shadow of its true self, though perhaps that was true. Mike made a note to ask Rickert when he returned to the magic smith for a new staff, to see what made the soul different, yet similar to the masses he found on bodies throughout Lordran.

With that, Mike began for the tower ahead of him, proud of his achievement, though it was somewhat ill gotten.

Lazuli came awake with a small stuttering cough, startling Mike. With a smile he sat the small lizard on his shoulder, before beginning up the towers steps.

"Augh, that hurt."

 ** _Released early because I might be occupied tomorrow. M. Lleylathu also, and a regular schedule by next Wednesday. Again, thanks to my editors n' stuff._**


	8. Chapter VIII

"So this… exploded." Rickert asked, his eyes curiously exploring the small stick that was all that remained of Mike's staff.

"Yes." Mike replied, his tone curious. "Any clue why?" Rickert mumbled under his breath as he pressed a finger to the end that had once been connected to a longer piece of wood. The end was perfectly smooth, as though it had been highly polished, and held a light sheen when angled correctly in the light. The wood had also become incredibly hard, to the extent that it scratched the iron bars Rickert was behind when he tested it on them.

"You used a wild spell, didn't you?" Rickert asked suddenly in an accusing tone. Mike stared at the magic smith dumbly.

"Um, maybe? Could you explain the term 'wild spell' before I answer that question?" Rickert heaved a sigh, his tone akin to that of a teachers when he next spoke.

"You found some natural magic, either a creature, or some other thing, and suddenly found yourself compelled to write, did you not?" Mike nodded slowly, a hand straying to his waist, where the blue paper he had scrawled on was. Rickert continued. "Well there is your largest fault. Natural magic, like any other, follows patterns and rules just like our own, except, more often than not trying to copy it and use it as a spell is incredibly dangerous, and stupid. I'm afraid it is my fault for not teaching you as much as I should have."

Mike brushed off the apology before passing a folded sheet of paper to Rickert. "My fault for not really doing anything with that before using it. More of an instinctive thing than any."

Rickert read over the paper slowly, his brows raising as he took in the haphazard lines of text written hastily. "It is a wonder you did not die!" He exclaimed after some time. "This needs some work, but I am quite sure this will be some spell when it is complete, if you can manage that. How many times did you inspect the original to make this?"

Mike tapped his fingers one by one, before snapping them loudly. "Once. Then I died, because it was a massive stream of light and energy that hit me in the face. I do not advise."

Rickert looked at the paper, then at the young man before him, then back, surprise and disbelief written on his face. "You… once? And you remembered this all, instantly?"

Mike scoffed. "More like it was burned into my retinas by the sheer brightness of it."

Rickert continued gaping at the young man. "I must say." He finally began. "You… are something interesting. Typically, mages have to be within a very close proximity to most magics to even be able to make crude copies, and yet you've endured this once and made a working replica, to an extent. I suppose also crystallizing a staff is something."

Mike nodded nonchalantly. "I'm special like that I suppose. You'll want more souls for another staff, then?"

Rickert shook his head violently. "Heavens no! If you want another staff, by all means I will give you one for free, if only you show me the end results of this spell! I could even craft you a staff, if you would bring me the materials."

Mike thoughtfully placed a hand on his chin, before nodding. "I'll borrow a staff for now, unless you want to work with the little steel and scrap wood I've collected

Rickert hastily retrieved another stubby staff from his things, the wood a light tan with a fine grain. Mike tested it with a soul arrow off to the side, before nodding to the magic smith watching him, who was suddenly anxious.

"Is it…?" Mike nodded in response, in the process of jamming the staff into the back of his left gauntlet. After a few more minutes of amicable chatter he departed, returning to the valley of drakes, which he had used to bypass returning to Andre's place, where Solaire and Oscar were no doubt patiently waiting.

After returning to the valley, now with a usable staff, Mike got to work, his first target lazily laying across a majority of the path atop two corpses not five minutes into the windy crevasse. After positioning himself atop a nearby ledge, Mike got to work, lazily flinging soul arrows in the rotten dragons' direction as he leaned back against the mossy stone. The silence was only occasionally interspersed with gargling breath from the dragon, which seemed far too gone to do much otherwise.

When the dragon, if the rotting husk could even be considered that, finally fell, it left in its place a single large grey scale, which Mike scooped up instantly, Lazuli briefly sniffing its glossy surface before it disappeared into the confines of his bottomless box.

With that done, and the weapons on the corpses looted, the rest of the valley consisted of a jog that left Mike only partially winded when he was done, a number of screeches echoing up the tunnel he had stepped into all that he had to deal with the drakes. Lazuli hissed in their direction as the elevator began ascending, the walls blurring around them as they were rapidly drawn upward.

After briefly stopping what was now a rampage at the bonfire, Mike plowed onward into Darkroot Basin, his first victim almost impaling him as soon as he stepped from the confines of his cave. The only thing preventing his immediate demise was a hasty reversal of his momentum facilitated in part through a conveniently placed rock that he stumbled into. After barraging the black knight with a hasty trio of heavy soul arrows Mike retreated, his drake talon only barely deflecting the great halberd the menacing foe wielded against him.

While the black knight was distracted by the off balancing of its weapon Mike moved to preform an overhead strike at its left pauldron with his axe, the weapon connecting solidly enough to dent the black metal to a small degree. Blanching at the minimal damage he had inflicted, Mike spouted another few soul arrows from his staff, these angled in the direction of his foes helm.

The black knight, having regained it's balance, brought its halberd to bear with a painfully fast upheaval of its spiked back, the black metal etched with lines of gold filigree slicing a deep rent up the young pyromancer/sorcerers side. With a grimace Mike grasped at the rip in the side of his chainmail, blood almost immediately slicking the metal.

Thinking quickly, Mike made a halfhearted dash at the knight, his axe tracing a long line through the air as he wound up for a single, particularly heavy arrack on the knights defense. In preparation the knight lowered it's shield to its waist, the slab of black metal angled as to deflect the axe effortlessly. At the last moment Mike abandoned his axe, the weapon clattering to the ground as he bent himself backward, his feet extended toward the black knights ankles.

Unprepared, the knight was knocked off its feet by the force of Mike barreling into them, his speed enhanced by the mud thick on the ground, and now on himself. In a last minute flick of his wrist, Mike reached up to jam his drake talon into the black knights helm, generating a keening wail as its wide edge was forced through ancient titanite and steel with the force of the demigod's descent.

Lazuli was the first to recover from the suicidal move, her nose roaming over Mikes face as she worriedly searched for some sign of life. When he at last heaved a great breath she skittered back, before warily licking the only mudless spot on him, the end of his nose.

"Agggh, stop that!" Mike mumbled through clenched teeth. Lazuli did so immediately, returning to her perch on his shoulder as he staggered to his feet tiredly. Though painful, Mike could at least be thankful that the cut along his left side was nothing more than a flesh wound, which immediately flowed together into seamless flesh when he got close enough to the bonfire.

"Eugh." Though filthy, at least his temporary clothing reformed with a pinch of repair powder. When that was all said and done, Mike, now thoroughly coated in filth and blood, stepped again from his cave, firstly retrieving a finger joint sized chunk of blue titanite from where he had seen the black knight drop it, the color almost exactly that of Lazuli's skin.

"Oh- oh that's nice." Mike commented as his hands brushed over the aged surface of the Grass Crest Shield, a surge of cold, harsh energy shooting through his limbs as he tied it over his shoulder with a spare sword belt. Lazuli recoiled sharply upon touching the metal, the foreign magic uncomfortable to her.

With that area now secured, Mike forged onward, making his way up the treacherously steep and wet slopes of the basin. Instead of heading into the woods he was presented with midway up, Mike turned sharply to the left, his prize yet farther ahead.

Lazuli perked up sharply as a familiar scent entered her nose, something she had not encountered for a long time. Mike noted his companions alertness as he ascended, until he stopped midway up the slope, curiously looking around.

It was obvious something of import was there, Lazuli was stretched so high on Mikes shoulder as to look like a submarines periscope, her breath coming out in short bursts as she searched for the scent she so desperately wanted to find the source of.

After a few minutes of searching through the brush growing against the cliff Mike pulled back, glaring at the sharply angled slope before them. Lazuli continued to turn in circles smelling for inconsistencies in the air, yet even she had lost her luster. With a small sign Mike reached up to run a hand down her back, the small lizard wheezing one heavy breath before slumping down onto his shoulder.

"We'll find more." Mike encouraged as he returned to the basin, a large mass of bright blue crystal almost immediately spotting them from afar. As it lumbered toward them Mike brought out a weapon more effective against the crystal, a rough hewn stick the size of a short baseball bat he had snatched from Altin's stores when the eastern man hadn't been looking.

Dodging a telegraphed jump attack from the golem, Mike drove his club into its leg, crystal shards flying under the force of it. As the golem turned to face him it dug into the mire underfoot, its arm extending into a massive club of crystalline growths that shrieked as they tore through the air. Out of curiosity Mike brought his club to bear, the wood clashing with the crystal soundlessly as it absorbed the blow, coming out only slightly cut into.

The golem's crystals creaked as they were struck solidly in the back, Mike following up with a second heavy overhead swing. The wear began to show as the golem raised its arms to preform its most irritating attack, small flakes of blue dust falling to the ground, before disappearing in flashes as their magic expired. The crystals that then erupted from the ground were so useless Mike merely jumped as they appeared, slamming home another attack in the golem as they retracted into the ground.

As the golem turned to face Mike again a groan came from its back, the noise echoing loudly throughout the cavern. As Mike stepped back the top end of the golem slid sideways, before falling to the ground in an eruption of souls and magic. A second later the bottom half followed suit, leaving nothing but a few footsteps to show it had ever been there.

"Now three more." Mike announced as another approached, alerted by the noise.

* * *

Some time later Mike finally came to rest behind a large tree, his arms sore from repeatedly bashing solid crystal with his club. The other three golems had put up equal, if not more difficult fights than the first, which had been the only one to have conveniently fallen apart midway through the fight.

After regaining his strength, in part due to the shield on his back, Mike readied his catalyst, a particular spell he had fiddled with earlier tucked into his belt. At first glance, the scroll seemed to be nothing more than a regular soul arrow, except for a handful of modified numbers and runes affixed to the bottom of the paper, changing it into something a little more useful for Mike's purposes.

With reduced casting times and increased range, the new longshot soul dart was more useful as a novelty than anything, but in Mikes hands it had a different task than directly killing the hydra as he rounded the tree he was against, axe in hand.

The first shot he made from the spell preformed exactly as Mike intended, lancing in a straight line to impact lightly on the hydras middle head, doing minimal damage to it. It was the next cast that proved useful, arcing sharply as it was cast almost directly backwards to head straight toward the impact location of the first spell.

The spell worked wonders during the usual hydra fight, that consisting of Mike diving out of the way just as the hydra drove its heads at him, shaking the ground and sending columns of water rocketing into the air. The new longshot dart fired regularly every fifteen seconds, keeping one of the heads distracted as the others assaulted Mike. Though doing little damage, Mike did note a small mark appearing where the spells continued to impact, the wound weeping a small amount of viscous red blood.

After nearly ten minutes of combat, Mike finally found his axe sinking deep enough to strike something hard, the hydras spine. At this the hydra released an ear splitting shriek, its heads renewing their assault with great vigor. Mike groaned loudly, thinking back to his Dragons Dogma days.

It was as a second head collapsed to the ground, unmoving, that something unexplained happened, startling Mike. Lancing through the air with a boom of thunder loud enough to feel, a lightning spear cleanly knocked one head backward, staggering the hydra despite its great size. During the brief moment of levity Mike removed a special item from his bottomless box, the owner of the lightning shortly following up with another, and two arrows in quick succession.

The first hydra head to decapitate did so with a low croak, before the entirety of it disappeared in a puff of ash. Heaving the Zweihander up slowly, Mike's next downward slice of it drove the massive blade into the ground below, though not before fully decapitating a second head. Mike had to hastily throw himself to the left before a head collapsed atop him, covered in spindly burns and pincusioned with arrows.

Now weaponless, Mike had to retreat slightly to re-draw his axe, the weapon slightly worse for wear at this point. With no repair powder on hand, Mika had to simply use its chipped and scratched edge to assault the newest head, this one taking just over three minutes to remove fully. Were it not for the unknown paladin and archer pair, Mike would've no doubt had to retreat at this point.

The next trio of heads fared similarly to the first three, each collapsing from ranged damage before Mike removed it from its body, leaving a single one drunkenly waving in the air as it was assaulted from all sides by magic, lightning, and fletched arrows. To Mike's surprise, this one did something the others hadn't, diving beneath the waves hastily as an arrow struck near to its eyes.

"Uhhhh, get back!" Mike yelled to his unknown helpers as the hydra rose to its full height from the lake, its mouth full to the brim with magic and water. To his surprise, Mike was allowed a very close up look of said water as the hydra suddenly turned downward, its eyes tiny slits. With a roar the water the hydra had been holding blasted Mike to the ground instantly, Lazuli bouncing back a few feet as she was knocked from his shoulder.

The water pressed on Mike like a ten ton weight for the few brief seconds it was atop him, pressing him deep into the mud as it roared in his ears. When all was said and done, and the water was naught but a few puddles around himself, Mike rose to his feet slowly, the earlier volley of lightning and arrows resuming their barrage as he did so. After retrieving Lazuli from where she was lying against a tree, slightly dazed, Mike added his own magic to the mix, blasting the already hurt hydra with heavy soul arrows as it began shuddering under the onslaught of magic and metal.

As the once mighty serpent sank to the ground Mike heaved a sigh, wincing as he went forward to remove the final head. The entirety of the fight, if he had to guess, had taken a little under forty minutes of his time, even with his two helpers, mostly due to the strength of the hydras' heads, even when down.

After cleanly cutting through the head, Mike was rewarded with ten thousand souls, a mighty series of cracks from his torso, and a pair of loud footsteps behind himself. Grimacing at the pain of a chest full of broken ribs, Mike turned to his right, before flinching away as a small pebble glanced off his forehead.

"You." Oscar began, stomping toward Mike. "We have been waiting for almost a week!" The knight exclaimed, punching Mike in the shoulder heavily as he got near enough to do so. Solaire, who had presumably been the one throwing lightning, nodded when Mike questioningly turned to him.

"Huh." Mike responded, before clenching his fist in pain as his ribs again reminded him of their state. "Oscar, estus." Mike indicated his ribs, and then the small dent in the forest floor he had made earlier while Oscar retrieved the green bottle from his belt.

"So we took down a hydra." Solaire stated slowly, his gaze toward the water. Mike nodded absentmindedly, his eyes on a small pair of items nearby, two dragon scales and a glittering gold and emerald ring that lay on the shore of the lake next to a corpse bearing common knights armor. After retrieving these and the Zweihander now buried in mud, he returned to Oscar and Solaire.

"Yeah, now you guys get to help me kick another monstrous things' ass. Hold my hand now." Both his companions seemed befuddled when Mike extended his hand, until he rolled up his sleeve to show them the dull iron ring around his wrist.

"Water proof magic." Mike stated as they gingerly laid their hands over his own. To prove this, he splashed a handful of murky liquid from a puddle onto his face, only to have it simply fall off as though it had been forcibly repelled.

"Amazing…" Solaire softly said as the three entered knee high water beside the lake, effortlessly moving despite what should have been a great impediment. Mike nodded.

"I've been studying this one particularly hard." Mike said as they neared the lip of a cave at the far end of the great cavern they were in. "It's much harder than duplicating offensive magic, because its not really being forced on me, but I hope to be able to make more eventually, possibly with the help of Rickert."

Solaire nodded, somewhat more knowledgeable of magic than Oscar. At this point the trio had entered the cave, wherein stood a golden golem almost thrice the height of a man, and easily four times as wide. Atop its back grew a crystal foggy with age, though, if squinted at, Mike could see a pale face inside, eyes closed as though its owner was sleeping.

Oscar and Solaire quizzically looked upon it, before turning to Mike. "Why are we to defeat one of the dukes crystal golems?" Solaire asked curiously, his eyes still on the massive thing.

"It… would probably be easier to show you. Oh, and when it begins to die, try to get back, the crystals really hurt to get cut with." With that, Mike pulled his hand from theirs, water seeping into the two knights' leggings as he did so. With dual nods they drew their weapons, sights set on the golems' chest, the largest target.

Mike began the short thing they called a fight, his club loudly impacting the golems' leg as he hit it, chipping off a few small flakes of crystal. Almost curiously, the creature looked down, trying to view its attacker around the mass of crystals that was its chest, just before an arrow and bolt of lightning impacted before its crystal eyes. Mike continued whaling on it as it looked up to see Oscar and Solaire, now number one priorities.

The golem then proceeded to do the stupidest thing imaginable, that being stepping forward. Unknown to it, a majority of its right leg, already worn down from centuries of standing in knee deep water, was now no larger than a humans wrist, the limb shattering loudly on impact with the ground. The golem, confused, released a single moaning call before its lower torso hit the stone under the water, shattering loudly as its weight brought about its own downfall.

Oscar and Solaire, seeing it explode, raised their shields, deflecting most of the razor sharp shards from their faces. Mike similarly had a wooden shield in front of his face, blocking the worst of the shards from hurting him.

The final thing to be done was the easiest of it all, as the topmost crystal shattered Mike jumped under it, catching the inhabitant bridal style as she screamed her way to the ground, a white wand composed of fine, braided branches falling from her hand into the water as she flailed for purchase on the air.

"Wha- who art thou…?" Mike held up a hand to stop Dusk.

"Hold on, lemme just…" Dusk exclaimed loudly as she was set on her feet, thoroughly confused. In water she stood, yet it seemed to shy away from her, not so much as dampening her shoes.

"Guys, meet Dusk, of Oolacile. Dusk, I am Mike, an undead with the power of foresight, who has freed you from your prison within one of Duke Seath's golems far into the future." After saying his short speech, Mike pulled Dusk forward with his right hand, forcing her to follow him through the water. Solaire and Oscar merely watched as he grabbed their hands, too confused to speak.

When Dusk didn't do her usual fading thing Mike heaved a sigh, still leading them toward the opposite shore. Briefly, he turned as a warm, heavy feeling seemed to apear around the group, the others seemingly unnaffected by it. After a wary moment Mike shrugged, and continued walking.


	9. Chapter IX

After explaining the rough state of Lordran to Dusk, and Dusk's background to his companions, Mike decided to head back to the lake to clean off his things, which were coated in a layer of mud, leaves, and crusted blood, both his and the hydras.

The water, notably that of the waterfall, cleaned his filthy chainmail and body quite easily, leaving Mike beet red from the force of it when he finally returned his iron ring to his wrist. After tying his hair in its usual, messy form Mike returned to the bonfire nearby, where he found a most confusing event occurring.

"Sir Seer!" Dusk yelled almost as soon as Mike stepped into view. Her torso seemed to be tightly wrapped in black mist, which was slowly drawing her backward into a dense fog of dark, nebulous energy.

"Do something!" Oscar yelled. He and Solaire were both hacking at the cloud uselessly, their blades passing through it with ease. Mike stared at the dark hand for a moment, before everything clicked into place. Instead of panicking, Mike walked up to Dusk and handed her a modified soul arrow he had been working toward strengthening, and began talking in rapid, but hushed undertones.

"Dusk, listen to me, you've got to fight the dark! Don't let it overcome you, its weak enough now that you won't perish immediately! Don't worry, we'll get to you soon-" Dusk gasped as the dark hand strengthened its iron grip, her lower half disappearing into the dark portal. With a slight 'pop,' the young woman disappeared, the cave falling into a hushed silence.

"We… she… what in the name of the gods was that?!" Solaire glared at the spot on the wall where Dusk had been drawn, irate that he had been unable to do anything. Mike took a deep breath.

"I suppose that explains a bit, I had less knowledge of her than really most else we will encounter. Normally, a chosen undead, after making their way to the dukes archives, finds a relic that used to be the most valuable possession of the first dark lord, bearer of the dark soul. Hundreds of years ago, in Oolacile, a handful of morons did something to the dark lord, Manus, and that drove him mad. With the sheer amount of dark he held, he ripped a hole in time to pull the chosen undead back to Oolacile, where they would then kill him and return to their own time. It seems Dusk, being the only one he ever loved, was just pulled back in time because she was out of Seath's crystal golem and he could find her." Mike heaved a breath as he finished, before relaxing onto his rear near the bonfire. Solaire and Oscar still stood warily, staring at the wall.

"But… Artorias did those things!" Oscar burst out after a moment. "His fame came in that he was the one to halt the spread of the abyss in Oolacile!"

Mike bowed his head in thought. "Actually, he fell to dark pretty hard, which is confusing because he had a pendant to ward against it. Usually we would have to put him down." Oscar and Solaire let out twin gasps. "But we won't." Mike added. "Along with pyromancy and sorcery, I plan on becoming a hexer for shits."

Solaire immediately took a step back. "You would… use the dark willingly?!" Oscar nodded in agreement. Mike frowned.

"Right, you two don't know. Humanity? That's dark, well, part of the dark soul, anyway. We humans all have dark in our souls, these bodies we have are constructs of the gods… or something. Its pretty hazy to my knowledge." Solaire and Oscar still seemed unsure, though the sunlight warrior had removed his hand from his weapon at least.

"And hexes are neat anyway, they have both physical and magical properties, and can apply to both pyromancy and sorcery. And miracles, in the future, I suppose." Solaire and Oscar still seemed skeptical, and did not relax their guarded positions. Mike gave an exasperated sigh.

"Did you two not see the big ass black hand pulling Dusk into the past? It. Did. Not. Hurt. Her. If we were anything not related to the dark, it would've been like pure poison, and she looked as though it was just a big hand. Now, stop being daisies and relax, we've got to fight one of Havel's knights next." Mike patted the ground next to him as Oscar and Solaire mulled over the explanation. Oscar was the first to sit, with Solaire doing the same shortly afterward.

"Oh, Andre said to return these to you." Solaire spoke up after a time, having remembered a small parcel tied over his shoulder. After unwrapping the tan cloth covering Mike found a newly repaired and reinforced set of pyromancer robes, and his axe, now slightly heavier than before.

"Why, pray tell, would we fight this knight?" Oscar asked out of curiosity.

"It's hollow." Mike explained as he changed, not caring about his company. "Long story short, someone stuck a dark weapon in Havel's stuff, and he was to be locked in a tower nearby for whatever reason. Instead, apparently someone else, a knight of his probably, is in there, and the last sign of him to be found is one of his miracles in ash lake. So, who wants to be the one that opens the door?" Nothing. Both Oscar and Solaire stared at him silently.

"Fine. Follow me." Mike led the two from the cave and up past unaware crystal golems, before stopping them at a door inset in a tower reaching far above, eventually connecting with the burg. With a swiftness only one facing down a Havel knight would use, Mike twisted a rusting key in the door, before diving to the floor as a club the size of his head crushed the space he had just occupied.

Oscar and Solaire came into the tower after Mike did, their plan in motion. Even in undeath, the knight swung its club around like a toy, crushing bricks into sand wherever it fell. With Mike distracting it, Oscar and Solaire began the arduous process of using their swords to cut a strap on the knights back, the blades screeching in protest as they were clamped between highly polished stone plates fashioned to look like large spines.

Meanwhile, Mike was peppered the knight with magic, keeping it on him as Oscar and Solaire alternated cutting at the armor's leather bindings. It seemed, even hollowed, the knight abhorred magic, each swing coming with a ferocious snarl from the Havel Knight's head as it tried mutilating Mike with its club, unaware of the swords slowly working their way through its armor.

With a final heave that surprised even himself, Oscar cut the final few millimeters of the strap he and Solaire had been working on. With a clang the left pauldron of the knight came loose, flopping loosely as the it continued going for Mike. In a surprise twist, the knight swiftly bashed Mike in the face with its shield, sending him sprawling across the room and into the far wall. Before he could rise the dragon tooth had fallen, pounding his left foot into the floor effortlessly, leaving a smear of blood in its place.

Mike gaped at the wound, unable to process it before the club came again, this time finishing him off. As he collapsed Lazuli bolted, disappearing up the stairs.

"Mike! You bastard!" Solaire renewed his fighting alongside Oscar, both aiming for the hole in the knights armor as it turned to face them. Oscar kept calm as the knight tried wildly slashing at them, avoiding the attack with a roll as Solaire was pushed back behind his shield, the thin metal crumpling around his arm as it absorbed the strike.

With two combatants out of the fight, for a time, the knight slowly turned to Oscar, only to find him not there. After dumbly looking at the wall for a second, it felt a thin blade slide up its spine, eventually piercing its helm to emerge from its left eye. The Havel Knight groaned pitifully once, before exploding into ash, leaving Oscar in its place, breathing heavily and clutching his Balder side sword tightly in his gauntleted hands. Having swapped his wider blade for the slender, faster one just seconds before, he was forced to retrieve his usual one from the floor before he replaced both at his belt, the side sword hidden under his blue coat perfectly.

Solaire, finally removing his shield from around his arm, was intoning a miracle as Mike reentered the tower, panting. He was human, probably from the bonfire, and looked quite annoyed.

"Well, that was not fun." He stated dryly as he retrieved his souls, and a thick ring from where the knight had fallen. This he slipped on under his gloves next to the Wolf ring, which he had retrieved in darkroot just earlier.

"Wait, where's Lazuli?" Oscar looked around for a second, before shrugging, having missed the lizards escape in the fight. Solaire nodded toward the stairs, still reciting his miracle.

After making his way up the tower, Mike found Lazuli curled into a ball in a corner of the top floor, eyes shut tightly. With a bit of coercion he managed to unfurl her, placing her back onto his right shoulder, which she clung to tightly.

"You almost had me worried." Mike chuckled as he descended to where Oscar and Solaire were, the latter trying to bash out the dent in his shield with his gauntlet. After passing around Oscars estus to be sure they were all in peak condition, he led them back upward, where he opened the locked door at the top with a flourish.

"What…?" Oscar questioned, before realizing he had seen the hollow in front of them before. "This is the undead burg!" He exclaimed as Mike went forward to end the hollow quickly.

"Yeah, that's why we didn't use this door before. Now that we're thoroughly done with that place, who wants to go assault a pair of gargoyles with origins unknown?" Mike asked jokingly. Solaire and Oscar seemed less than willing too face a new threat.

"Oh come on you wimps." Mike headed onward without them, breezing through a majority of the burg with single swings of his weapon, only occasionally needing to deflect a blade with his talon. Oscar and Solaire unwillingly followed, doing little as Mike returned them to firelink in less time than it had taken to get through the first time.

"So really, the gargoyles aren't that hard to fight." Mike began as they entered the church a few minutes later, the three stepping off a cramped elevator in tandem. "The first will just hit you and jump around until its about half dead, and the second appears at that point. That one will mostly hang back and spit fire at us, and damn do I not want to test my resistance to that."

At that point Mike had talked all through climbing the first floor of the church, stopping as he remembered something. "One sec." He said quickly, before bolting down a plain corridor off to the side. Sounds of fighting ensued, before more loud footsteps. A few minutes later Mike returned, leading the two with him up to the roof as he resumed talking.

"Before we attack them, though, I want to see if we can get anything from them, notably the metal axe on their tails, and their weapon and shield. For this we'll be simply attacking its tail, and its hands, until these things drop. The gargoyle helm is crap anyway." He paused before the fog wall in front of him, two handing his axe.

"Ugh, cold." Mike said as he passed through the fog, Solaire and Oscar similarly shivering as they followed behind him. As they looked around Mike made for the center of the roof, before diving backward as a halberd slammed into the tiles where he'd been, sending chips of stone flying.

"Go!" Solaire and Oscar needn't be told to do so, each already charging at the stone creature screeching loudly at Mike. Dodging another overhead chop of the polearm it wielded, Mike rose to his feet with a blast of magic at its tail, causing a loud rattle as it turned to him, bronze armor loudly clanking as it moved into a horizontal swing.

Oscar and Solaire both went for its hands as it rose to fly, alerting it to their presence. As it tried to bash Oscar away with its shield, Solaire accidentally impaled its right hand with his sunlight straight sword, making the gargoyle drop its halberd with a clang and a wail, all three enemies abandoned as it retreated to the far end of the roof, its hand held tightly to its armored torso.

Solaire frowned, looking to the gargoyle, which seemed to be in a deal of pain. To Mike, he voiced his concerns. "I am unsure of this, I do not believe any insane, or hollow minded creature would act as such. This creature… it seems to be in pain."

Mike nodded contemplatively as he watched the gargoyle begin prying bronze armor from the wound on its hand. As they stared, another figure finally managed to work his torso through the fog wall behind them, bounding loudly toward them after it had secured itself.

"Wait!" Siegmeyer called loudly, his footsteps crashing through tiles as he made for the top of the roof. When he had reached the peak he bent over, panting loudly in his helm.

"I saw your battle with these creatures earlier, might you take another with you?" Siegmeyer's voice held hope as he rose to face the gargoyle at the far end of the roof. Under his helm, however, he grew curious as the gargoyle continued pryin the bronze from what looked like a stab wound to its hand.

"Sirs, might I ask why this creature is acting like this? I have before seen humans fake injury for an upper hand… but this makes little sense, even by this land's unusual standards." Siegmeyer had caught his breath, and now watched the gargoyle as it feebly tried pulling shorn bronze from itself.

Mike thought for a second, before putting forth an idea. "You three, you've some tough armor, see if you can't go hold down that gargoyle, if you'd be willing Siegmeyer."

The massive knight bobbed his head immediately. "I may be slow, but I think I can see where you are going with this!" He chortled as he slid his Zweihander, almost twice as large as Mike's, into a sheath at his back with some difficulty. When that was done, he led the charge against the creature of bronze and stone at the far end of the church, which released a startled cry as it looked up to discover three knights descending upon it.

Mike grimaced as the gargoyle let out a long, drawn out cry as his knightly companions wrestled it to the ground, Solaire and Oscar each holding an arm as Siegmeyer pulled it backwards under his great weight and might. When they had secured it, and wrestled its shield from its left hand, Mike began working with his axe and drake talon, starting with the hole still seeping blood from its right hand.

The first ring of bronze against tile struck the gargoyle from its fit of wailing and struggling, causing it to look at the now freed skin of its hand as more bronze began collapsing from its upper arm, largely due to the thin drake talon sawing through rivets and joints rapidly. As the gargoyle watched another three pieces of green-brown plating fell, sliding off to the side before falling to the ground below, where it impacted loudly against the courtyard where hollows usually stood.

The gargoyles next cry was one of confusion as Mike began on its right wing, the tattered membrane meant for flight shaking as he carefully carved away bronze tightly clamped around bones and skin. When the final piece of metal had fallen to the ground with a clash, the gargoyle fluttered its now freed wind slowly, before crowing joyously as it enjoyed a freedom of movement not felt since its conception.

"Mm hm, thought as much…" Mike muttered as he worked at more metal, eventually making his way down to the gargoyles armored torso. This was perhaps the easiest section, the metal coming apart as a handful of connecting joints and straps were easily sliced through, crashing to the ground loudly enough to give even Oscar pause.

After dragging aside the weighty bronze of the chest pieces Mike resumed his work on the gargoyle, freeing its feet in record time with a few carefully placed cuts and tugs. That left a single piece of metal remaining on the gargoyles body, the helm. This piece seemed firmly seated on its head, as though it had been on construction. After a few minutes of trying to cut away the metal carefully, Mike stepped back, the gargoyle following him with its eyes as he placed a hand on his chin, pacing.

"What seems to be the matter?" Siegmeyer rumbled when Mike hadn't returned to working on the gargoyle's mask. The undead in question frowned in irritation.

"I can't get this stupid helm off, its too thick to cut, and does not seem to have any means of unlatching." Mike explained. Siegmeyer hummed as he turned his own visage to the gargoyles head, though he could only view it from behind.

"Ah ha!" The knight suddenly exclaimed, startling Oscar and Solaire. In their brief moment of surprise the gargoyle made its escape, wrenching itself from their grips easily with its newfound strength before bolting to the far end of the roof, where it let out a keening cry, enough to startle even Mike, who was contemplatively staring at the other gargoyle above, still on the roof. It was not the noise, however, that startled him, no, it was the sudden movement from the gargoyle above that caused him to turn around, to see an unusual sight for sure.

Solaire and Oscar both warily watched the first gargoyle as the second dropped to the ground, this one without a metal tail, a stumpy grey one in its place. At the far end of the roof, where undead usually filtered through, Siegmeyer had managed to calm the first gargoyle, the cry it had released for help, and for peace. As Mike watched the second gargoyle raced to Siegmeyer's side, its still gauntleted hands wrapping around the first's helm tightly. After a moment, there was a loud, grating noise as the helm suddenly began pulling apart, before twin chunks of bronze shot outward, one crashing into a tree some ways to the left, the other imbedding itself in a house farther back in the burg.

After letting the first gargoyle step back, Siegmeyer then got to work on the second's armor, his steel covered hands shredding the thick bronze as if it were tissue paper. When all was said and done, the second had been released from its bronze prison in a third the time of the first, this ones helm coming off in a way not dissimilar to the first.

"Siegmeyer!" Mike called out when the Catarinan knight had stopped, the trio at the far end of the bridge turning simultaneously to face him.

"Yes?" Siegmeyer called back, his voice curious. The gargoyles, especially the first, looked on his companions warily, but in their eyes, Mike was akin to a saint, as was Siegmeyer.

"Do be careful!" The Catarinan nodded slightly, his eyes lingering on Mike for a moment, before he returned them to the gargoyles. Surprising all parties involved, Siegmeyer extended both arms in a T pose, each gargoyle shouldering one easily. With a flick of their now lighter wings they were off, bobbing through the air away from the church at a surprising speed.

Oscar and Solaire both gaped in confusion as Mike merely waved, absolutely unfazed.

"You…" Oscar began, staring at Mike. "How did you…? This wasn't even what was to happen!"

Mike looked back at the knight bobbing his way into the trees lazily, before shrugging as he began collecting bronze fragments. "You all didn't hear it, but apparently, Siegmeyer came to know a number of languages in his time as a roaming Catarinan knight. Apparently, those gargoyles understand Old Londish."

After giving the tail axe a few test swings Mike tucked that away too, before turning to the space behind Oscar and Solaire, which had yet more scrap metal lying about. After watching him do this for some time, both knights sighed, stooping to help him as they mulled over recent events.

* * *

"Hello." Mike froze at the voice, his eyes turning to connect with a dark azure pair to his left. Standing in a relaxed 'Well what is it?' pose, Oswald raised an eyebrow as Mike slid a step back.

Oswald continued. "I am Oswald of Carim, pardoner of the goddess Velka. I feel that you have dealt with the outside enemies in a most unique way. I would advise against this going forth, in the case that you might break the prophecy-"

At that moment a loud ringing shook the room, freezing Oswald. Both he and Mike turned to the ladder nearby, which soon shook with footsteps. The pardoners hands slowly crept to his sides as a pair of boots appeared, soon after revealing an Astoran knight clad in blue. Following that, an unusual knight in an assortment of odd garb dropped down beside the first, both warily looking to Oswald before moving to the young pyromancers side.

"What is this?!" Oswald seethed, his voice carrying a sharp edge. In confusion, Mike looked to his companions.

"These are Solaire and Oscar, they've been-" Oswald didn't let the undead finish, instead whipping his wire thin sword from his cloak and into the boy before another word could come from his mouth. Mike gaped at the new array of holes covering the entirety of his chest in confusion for less than two seconds before his figure burst into ash. In the confusion, Lazuli fell from Mikes robes, and retreated into a dark corner.

Oscar and Solaire exploded into action in record time, both moving o the sides as the pardoner that had just killed Mike jabbed at them. In the following scuffle, Oscar let himself become impaled by the pardoners thin blade so as to draw the thin man to himself, giving Solaire time to drive his sunlight sword through the mans black robes.

Oswald coughed up blood as he fell to the floor, fatally wounded. Little humanity had he, most spent to gain favor with his goddess. "You… will pay… for this treason…" He managed to cough out, before falling limp. His corpse did not collapse into ash, leaving a puddle of blood to slowly pool around him as Oscar gulped down estus and Solaire stared.

"Is he…?" Solaire asked.

"-yep!" Mike answered for him as he skidded to a halt, his hands reaching for his souls before the two could react. Lilith raced from the corner she had hidden in, scampering up Mikes leg and back onto his shoulder with practiced ease.

"Probably didn't have any humanity, the sucker. So what did he say, I couldn't hear over the sound of dying." As he spoke Mike bent down to Oswald, grimacing as he rifled through the mans pockets. Oscar and Solaire turned their heads from the sight.

Oscar spoke up first. "He stated that we would pay, though I don't see why." Mike nodded as he pulled a small black booklet from the robes, followed by a pair of spiked, grey rings. After flipping through the book of the guilty for some time Mike softly said 'ah.'

"Guess what you two? I've just earned myself sin, for dying!" Mike's thoughts moved to Gwyndolin, and he heaved a sigh. "Awesome, that means we'll have Darkmoon blades up our asses for a while. Fan-frigging-tastic."

"Why would-" Solaire was cut off by Mike as the young man turned around, returning the way he had come.

"Velka. A thousand souls says she has some hand in this. See normally, an occult ember and the robes of one of her pardoners is locked in a magic prison in Anor Londo, so it can be assumed that the gods feared her for some reason. Oswald seemed mad that I broke from the usual chosen stuff, so we can reasonably assume that Velka dislikes the fact that I did that, for whatever reason. Guess that's another thing to add to our list of problems." As he spoke Mike wandered back into the church, the hollows inside still collapsed as before. Solaire and Oscar followed silently, deep in thought.

"But that's later. We've just completed half of Oscar's prophecy, I'm back in normal clothes, and I also have two free rings!" Mike held up the hand holding the blood and poisonbite rings to prove his point. "Let's relax, go to Firelink for a bit. What do you two say?"

Solaire and Oscar didn't need more questioning, both stepping into the tiny elevator alongside Mike as he stepped onto a plate in the center of it. Both were exhausted, physically and mentally, and were quite alright with a break, if a bit short.

 _ **Man, lost of new things this chapter! I am glad to say I've broken the twenty thousand word barrier before the remaster, it'll help draw those readers that filter by word. For the rest, it would be appreciated if you lot reviewed, even if its to point out some spelling or continuity error. Any feedback is welcome.**_

 _ **Except from you Peon.**_


	10. Chapter X

Put simply, the group had little rest upon returning to Firelink. After a brief conversation between Mike and Altin the trio just in from the church headed out, their destination deep in the burg. Mike also made sure to also update Rickert on the status of his progressing spells while he was there, the smith more than eager to listen.

"This… Lower Burg." Solaire began partway through the upper Burg, before he was distracted by a hollow. Two clean swords swipes later he continued. "What is our purpose there? Oscar informed me our next destination is the Blighttown, would it not be more efficient to find a way to scale the cliffs leading down there than to go here?"

Mike hastily ducked under a rogue axe swing, before bringing his own up to the hollow that had been holding it. After dispatching the last few around them Mike stopped for a breath. "There are two other magic users down there, one in the Lower Burg, the other in the sewers. I suppose we could go the sewer route down, but there's a much faster way if you know what you're doing."

Solaire accepted the knowledge, and they continued, now mostly through the masses of hollows. After briefly stopping when he forgot they had killed the drake, Mike led the group to the end of the bridge where Solaire had been earlier, stopping partway along.

"I swear if this breaks…" Mike fumbled a little with the slightly bent key to the door before himself, before managing to unlock it with a grating click. Oscar and Solaire were wary upon seeing the large ladder beyond, the fall definitely deadly, even for a lighter person like Mike.

After wrapping his hands in rags Mike slid down the ladder quickly, his feet touching the ground mere moments after he'd grabbed the rusted bars. Solaire and Oscar were far slower, taking their time to descend so as to not shatter their lower halves if they slipped.

"Welcome to the Lower Burg." Mike announced when they were both finally down. Having already unlocked the shortcut, he led them forward, his wooden shield held carefully at his side.

"To your front, you'll see piles of burning corpses, absolutely trashed streets – and look, puppies!" Mike finished the sentence rather dryly, already charging a soul arrow. The first dog fell to that as the other two plowed forward, snapping at and around Mikes wooden shield with a ferocity only known by hollows. A few quick chops finished them easily, their rotting bodies falling to the ground before collapsing into ash.

Only slightly winded, Mike led his companions past a long abandoned well, before sharply veering to the right. "And to your left, you'll see a bunch of houses. Nothing special, you say? Well take a look right here, if I just…" Mike almost snapped this key trying to be quick when opening Griggs' door. "Surprise! Looks like this house comes with its own mage!"

Solaire and Oscar nodded briefly to Griggs, before turning to fend off a pair of naked hollows that had heard Mikes raised voice and come shambling over. Mike took the time Griggs rose to his feet to tug his bottomless box over a barrel tucked into the back of the room they were in, before turning to the mage with a smile.

"Excuse me?" Griggs said slowly, his voice shaky. Mike stuck out his hand in greeting after sliding his axe into his belt.

"Name's Mike, mage in pyromancer clothes. Pyromancer-to-be. Working on the undead prophecy now, figured another few faces wouldn't be all that bad up in Firelink." Griggs stared at the young man for a moment before nodding slowly, his brain working hastily to catch up with the situation.

His next few words were scarcely more than stutters as Griggs fought to understand. "You- you're a sorcerer then?" Mike nodded, bringing relief to Griggs' features. "Good, let's stick with that. My name is Griggs, I came here following master Logan when he left Vinheim in search of greater magics. You… haven't seen him, have you?"

Mike held his hand horizontally as he led the man outside, where Solaire and Oscar were trying to pull a twined humanity apart. "Kind of, if you believe that I've foresight, and know his exact location."

"Wonderful. Griggs announced, a hint of weariness in his voice. "So you've cracked then? Or maybe you think you actually do have-" Mike cut Griggs off.

"He's in Sens Fortress, got trapped somehow. Anyway, would you listen to me if I told you I know that you're part of some secret sect of the Dragon School based around sound magic and secrecy?" Griggs, who was about to respond to the information on Logan, broke into a fit of coughs upon Mikes talk of his sorcery.

Silence followed, Griggs staring at Mike with confusion written across his face. "What?" Mike asked, confused.

Following a brief sigh, Griggs reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "This is all… a little much. Frankly, I'm not even sure if you're entirely trustworthy." The mage looked down at the palms of his hands as Oscar and Solaire passed them, already warned about the ambushes ahead.

"I don't even have a catalyst…" Griggs muttered some time later, one of his hands held over a small pocket on his robe, perhaps where he kept his sorceries.

"Problem solved, then." Mike announced, a flourish of his hand revealing a small wooden dowel that had been on the mage in the barrel inside. Half the size of his own catalyst, it couldn't be nearly as powerful, but that could be made up for with higher quality spells and rings, until Griggs could meet with Rickert anyway.

"I- uh-" Griggs stuttered as he clasped the wand, unsure of what to do.

"Relax Griggs, jeez. Just help us through the rest of the Burg and we can lead you back to Firelink, ok?" Griggs looked around for a second before nodding, his fingers arranging scrolls as he did so.

When the two came again on Oscar and Solaire, it was only slightly further in, both standing back to back while fending off some eight or so hollow thieves around them. It was only due to the two knight's armor that they weren't lacerated all over, though Solaire's looked as though it had taken a fair beating.

Both sorcerers came in prepared, each downing a hollow with single spells. Taking advantage of the distraction, Solaire and Oscar lashed out at the nearest hollows, ending one each. Mike calmly stepped forward as a thief raced up to attack him, knocking its dagger out of its grip as it tried flailing at his face. A single swing to the head killed it, leaving three in the street.

Griggs took another with a spell, leaving the last two to the knights. After drawing their swords from the bodies, both looked to Mike.

"Well." Oscar began, a gauntleted hand pressed to his helm. After a moment he removed it, shaking his head. "One hit me with some sort of… toxin, or something. Threw a handful of black powder at my face, almost was too much."

Mike frowned spectacularly. "Not good, not good at all." He muttered. After a moments thought he turned to the small group. "It sounds like they use some sort of handheld poison and/or toxin. Hopefully its only poison, because toxin is easily ten times worse, and likely a death sentence for anyone but myself."

Griggs seemed confused at that. "How would it kill us, but not you…?"

"Oh yeah, you." Mike turned to Griggs. "I've been using souls to boost my physical resistance, and now that I've gotten decently high, my health, aka how much I can get hit before in fall apart. Oh, and this ridiculous thing. Four times poison resistance." Griggs blanched upon seeing the poison and bleedbite rings.

"Ugh, no I'll will toward you, but I hope whoever you got those from is long gone." The mage said with a grimace.

"Why?" Mike asked curiously, Oscar and Solaire already moving on.

"Those rings are a kind carved from ancient dragon scales, which is how they have such potent resistance effects. They were originally used by assassins, and their kind usually have bloody pasts." Griggs made a pointed effort to not look directly at Mikes outstretched hands. Both of his shoulders rose as Mike shrugged.

"Interesting, but not really too terrible. I don't really plan on doing too much assassination anyway." Griggs shuddered at that, unsure if Mike was joking or not. The conversation over, they moved to catch up with Solaire and Oscar.

Both knights released their respective ranged attacks as Mike and Griggs rounded a corner, killing a pair of dogs ahead instantly. Down the street, they could see more, along with a number of large doored houses.

Turning to the sorcerers as they caught up, the knights nodded together. "This seems to be near to the end, I believe I can see a great arch of fog near the end." Solaire stated as he charged another bolt of lightning, Oscar already pelting his dog with a multitude of arrows.

"Accurate." Mike responded as he stepped up beside Oscar, charging a longshot dart as he did so. Griggs watched quietly as the thin blue line shot through the air in a straight path, before seemingly sticking to the second dogs side.

"Hey Griggs." The sorcerer in question looked up as Mike twirled his staff, the dog Stoll barreling down the street toward him. "Watch." In a single quick motion Mike flicked out his staff, instantly firing off a trio of small soul arrows – soul darts – at the dog. Griggs gaped as they ricocheted off the surrounding walls, angling straight for the blue spark on the dogs side. Three more shots followed, and the dog died from an excess of energy.

"My own spell." Mike explained as the knights went forward to tank, the first few hollows to emerge mercilessly cut down as they looked around for invaders. Neither mage hesitated before firing off spells at those nearest to them, killing them easily. As the fighting raged on ahead of them Mike and Griggs moved forward, picking off hollows as they went.

When they were done, Griggs turned to Mike excitedly. "That! I haven't seen spell work like that since the Dragon Schools headmaster had to fight his way out of an assassination attempt! He might be dead or hollow, but you've just-" Griggs had to force himself to breathe for a moment as his excitement grew.

"Well, as interesting as it is to find out that college math has actually benefitted me for once, We should probably catch up with them." A hand gesture brought to Griggs' attention the receding backs of their knightly companions as they moved on.

Oscar slowed to a stop as the group made their way to a tall fog gate in front of them. To Mikes confusion, the group turned to him at once. "What?" He asked, wondering why they were staring. After a moment, he remembered his role, a malicious grin creeping up his face as he turned to the fog.

"Now, normally this boss is a pain in the ass, it's a Capra demon and two dogs, all three very close to the door. Fortunately, some genius undead figured out that hey, walls can be thrown over!" Mike pulled out a trio of normal firebombs as he spoke, using a piece of thin cloth to tie them together. After testing their weight, he lobbed the softball sized mass over the fog gate with an underhanded throw, angling it to fall just past the vined surface.

"This is what we call cheese, from where I come from. Put simply, it is completing a given task or objective wit a little effort as possible." As he made the next trio of bombs, an explosion sounded from beyond the fog gate, signaling the first bombs drop. Mike turned to Oscar after throwing the second, this one slightly left of the first.

"For example, many undead accidentally cause the Taurus demon we fought to fall off the wall, often killing it within a minute of entering the arena. That, is cheese." The next bomb the next bomb was thrown far too low to make it over the wall, instead glancing off an extruding brick and into the alley below, where it combusted loudly. Mike frowned and threw the next higher, enough that he heard the death throes of one of the dogs on the other side of the fog.

"…that is it?" Solaire asked after a few more bombs were carefully thrown.

"Yeah, after we get the key to the sewers we have a handful of things to do there, and then we can get back to Firelink." Mike finished knotting a piece of leather around a trio of black firebombs as he spoke, this one with a short length of rope attached to it to compensate for its awkward weight. A calculated spin brought it over the wall with a graceful arc, its explosion knocking a bit of dust from the surrounding cobbles.

A bead of sweat fell from Mikes brow as he heaved another black firebomb cluster over the wall, his aim true. This time, however, something changed in the way the bombs exploded, as though it had been higher than before…

"Dog!" Mike's shout was drowned out by the dying noises of the Capra demon as it fell to its knees, most of its bony head cracked and burned from the bomb it had been beaten over the head with. Oscar, being second closest to the dissipating fog, was the first to react as Mike tried diving out of the way of the dog that streaked toward them. Fortunately, Oscar had become quite adept at moving in his heavy armor since the Asylum, his movements bringing him between Mike and the dog before it could close its powerful jaws on the young man. In a single, sharp movement Oscar grabbed the dog by its neck and slammed it face down into the ground, killing it instantly.

Mike breathed a sigh of relief when he looked up to see Oscar dusting himself off, the dog collapsing into ash already. After checking to be sure Lazuli was still stuck to his shoulder Mike waved for the others to follow him into the small alley once occupied by the Capra demon. Where the demon had died lay a key tied to what looked like an ancient, cracked belt, alongside a single hazy humanity sprite, which Mike gave to Griggs out of kindness.

"So The Depths." Mike began as they filed down the steps leading lower. "Mostly a windy maze of sewers, and not really anything special. I have two plans for there, to get at least a single piece of green titanite, and to save a man named Laurentius from some hollows that tied him up. Everything else is kind of in between stuff."

Griggs noticed the hollow thief ahead of them just as Mike did, his soul arrow firing off first. A moment later, Mike fired his into the unsuspecting face of a second around a hidden corner, killing it instantly.

"Mostly there are basic hollows down here." Mike explained as he used the Capra's key on the door they came upon halfway down the alley. "A few beefy ones with meat cleavers, they're fast, but as long as they don't rip your shield from your arm with their meat hooks you'll be fine."

The room they entered after a brief flight of stairs was exactly as described, mostly empty save for a few pink hued hollows meandering about, some with torches held aloft. These fell with ease, single loose swings from the three with melee weapons usually ending the enemies.

It was just as they began descending the next set of steps when the smell hit them. Like a wet fog, the dry, musty scent of the lower rooms intermingled with the thick, heavy smell of cooking food, which came from a pot over a fireplace built into the wall not further on. After dispatching a stray hollow dog the four stopped to take in the sheer size of the butcher just ahead, mindlessly dropping its massive blade into a large side of meat. The rotting enemy raised its head as the keening whine of magic made it aware of the group, the source already charging another soul arrow as he sidestepped, avoiding a steel pot thrown by the butcher.

"Wha-" Oscar was silenced as he ducked under a ferocious slash from the butcher, his roll turning into a vertical wing that dug deeply into the hollows flesh. As he darted back to regain his bearings Solaire landed a lightning spear directly into its chest, Griggs landing a soul arrow of his own a moment later.

In confusion, the hollow wasn't able to see the daggers behind it until it was too late, a curved blade impaling its neck as a straight one went through its back, both twisting sharply as they were drawn back. Mike dropped to the ground as the butcher turned sluggishly to face him, only for it to stumble on him as it slipped in a small patch of its own blood. Its collapse was followed by a single, low moan, before it disappeared into ash. Lazuli sneezed slightly, prompting Mike to pull his hood over her small form.

Oscar pulled Mike to his feet with a light tug, Mike responding with a punch to the armored man's shoulder. "Good roll." He then turned to Griggs and Solaire. "And you guys too, good range. Alone those are pretty rough usually."

After retrieving a loose canvas sack from the floor Mike began rifling through a pile of crates in the back of the room, his search rewarding him with a small wooden box that had been tucked away in a heavy oak chest. Inside was a glimmering gold ember that flared with light at different angles, like a gemstone that was lit from inside.

"Andre'll love this." Mike murmured as he tucked it away, before looking to a final set of stairs with a slight grimace.

"Better idea, we don't go through the literal shit hole. Back up!" With confusion the others followed him upstairs, where Mike indicated a series of arches in the walls, a hallway just beyond.

"Right under us is a bit of the sewer, dogs and hollow included. Really not that big, just utterly disgusting." After checking the depth of the drop with a firebomb, Mike dropped down to the floor, shortly followed by Griggs. Oscar and Solaire chose to use an empty lighting fixture as a step down, so as to not get severely injured from the weight of their armors.

"Hello!" Mike called upwards as they approached a doorway, before he released a large bundle of firebombs from where he had tucked them into his robe. The small orbs crashed into the falling butcher with a crash, staggering it with a large explosion that rocked Mike a little. Before the hollow could react two soul arrows, a lightning spear, a pair of blades, and Mikes axe were all in it at once, leaving Oscar, Mike, and Solaire to carefully separate as they looked at each other with surprised looks.

"I suppose… we're all changing a little to work more efficiently…" Solaire said in the ensuing silence. Mike nodded a little, thrown just the smallest amount, before turning to face the door once more.

"Annnnyways, our newest friend! A man by the name of Laurentius, of The Great Swamp. Quite soft really, try not to be terribly harsh because of his homeland." Griggs nodded ever so slightly at the words, just enough for Mike to see. "Good!" He exclaimed, clapping. At the noise, a soft voice called from the room behind him.

"H-hello?! Please, help me from here! I've been here for weeks, I don't know when they plan to do so, but I think those awful…" Laurentius continued to talk even as Mike began moving barrels out of the way, Oscar and Solaire working efficiently to move them either to the side or on top of others. Soon a hooded face peeked out of the darkness, a beard hanging low from his giant features.

Still quite young, Laurentius looked to be about mid to late twenties, if Mike had to guess. Quite possibly he had been caught before going hollow, as his skin was loosely hung over a frame of too-thin bones and muscle, much the same was as Mike looked. Upon noticing his rescuers, a spark of hope entered the mans eyes, his voice calling louder.

"Over here! Yes, yeah, here I am!" Laurentius flinched as Mike suddenly slammed his axe into the barrels metal binding, snapping the bottom one. A second later the top one popped, the metal clanging to the floor uselessly. The pyromancer inside stretched eagerly, his face alight with joy.

"Thank you! Have you come here from the great swamp too? I've been searching for-" Mike cut off the pyromancer mid sentence.

"Quelana? I wouldn't advise it, for now. Of the fates you hold, that I know of anyway, you usually befall a bad fate if you go into Blighttown, though you do have the butcher right direction of it. On a side not, I'm not actually from The Great Swamp, I just happened to wake like this. I am actually a traveler from quite far away, with foresight about as reliable as a crayon map, general direction, loose details. Did I get it all?" Laurentius nodded, surprisingly.

"Almost. You've failed to introduce me to the magical creature under your hood, and it feels like you've got something you've not spoken about." Mike was startled by the pyromancers calm.

"Oh, that's Lazuli. She's adorable, aren't you?" The end of the sentence was directed toward the sleeping lizard he uncovered, who lazily opened an eye to stare at Laurentius before moving to re-enter the hood.

"And… pyromancy! Almost forgot that bit. You have it, I want it. Show me, sensei." Laurentius stared curiously at Lazuli's location for a second before turning to Mike, his hands outstretched.

"Runic designs created centuries ago by Quelana, designed to be a more accessible option than fire sorcery, which Quel reserved solely for Izalith. The runes allow magic to safely move through the body without causing any negative side effects, by holding a small piece of your soul from the rest, which is used as a sort of catalyst to make the magic more… workable. Instead of standard sorcery scrolls, we use memory parchment, which holds the echoes of a pyromancy to provide a guideline for others until they have memorized it. That about covers the basics, anyway." Laurentius summoned a sputtering flame in his hands as he spoke, the light showing off a series of small, italicized runes that spiraled around his palms.

"You seem quite calm with me." Mike noted after a while. Laurentius nodded.

"We have- ahem, had a group similar to yourself back in the Swamp, though without the overconfidence and general worldly knowledge. They used highly secret rights to attain a sort of foreknowledge, usually to determine a woman's birthing date, or disastrous weather. I do not think any lived, though I can't say for sure, they were quite resilient, even when Thorolund marched on us." Laurentius shook out the kinks in his limbs as they walked down the stairs and into the hallway beyond.

"Anyway, on to the matter of your learning pyromancy. That all begins with this." Mikes eyes lit up in recognition as Laurentius unrolled a leather pouch from one of his pockets, revealing a small pile of crumbling leaves. After having Oscar and Solaire return to the surface, as their weapons would be of little use against the sewer slimes, Mike cracked the knuckles on both hands, before throwing an arm around Laurentius's shoulders.

"I have a feeling we will get along juuuust fine." Mike said. Griggs looked on warily, his nose only catching the barest hint of the unusual herbs' smell through the stinking rot that permeated the depths.

 ** _Sorry about being late, school is hell recently. End of year stuff. Lleylathu might update today, likely tomorrow, or next week. This chapter is nice though. Can't wait to get into pyromancy. Also, I have a slight spin off planned for after Summoned but before Summoned 2, and if you want to actually work on it yourself, adding plot points and ideas, email me at ifenris 42 gmail dot com, and I'll send you a link to my discord serverserver, where I have all the chapters up early for editors. Gotta have constructive criticism first though._**

 ** _On the topic of DS1 remastered, its about what I expected. At least they didn't change anything lore related. Be nice when the newbies start flooding in soon._**


	11. Chapter XI

Back in firelink, things were… calm. Incense Laurentius had placed around his small residence left a light, but warm smell in the air, with a slightly bitter touch to it. Where he usually was, Griggs currently studied Mike's longshot soul dart spell, one hand running down the page as the other steadily copied the sprawling lines of runes along the edges in clean, even rows. The Astoran knights and Altin spoke below with Anastasia, who had picked up a small amount of sign language through the sword dancer. Finally, atop one of the benches near to the bonfire lounged Lazuli, wrapped in a newly made red scarf Andre had brought to the shrine not long after Laurentius had been led there.

To Lazuli's left Mike was working on a set of notes deep within his spell book, concerning a small brazier beside him on the bench. Inside the small iron bowl sat a cluster of once dull green leaves, now a dark brown color from the small lit charcoal Laurentius had placed under it. A thin curl of smoke rose from the bowl at a steady pace- poisonous, according to Laurentius.

"Unfortunate…" Mike muttered to himself as he finished his notes. As his pyromancer friend had instructed, he plucked the bowl from where it was perched on a wire frame, the contents falling apart as they were disturbed. From a nearby set of tiny glass vials three drops of bright orange fluid called 'Pincher Sap' was added, followed by a small spoonful of powdered yellow algae and a piece of crumbling grey rock that hissed when it came into contact with the rest of the mixture. That done, the slurry was mixed with a copper rod until it turned into a thin black liquid that smelled of moss and rubbing alcohol.

Laurentius grinned and waved as Mike approached, the bowl perched carefully on his left hand. In the pyromancers hands were a bundle of off white strips of cloth and a tiny silver blade, both carefully cleansed with a mixture of boiling water and other assorted materials to give them a light scent of cinnamon.

"All right, now just let me see your hands." Laurentius said calmly. After taking Mikes left hand into his own he gently dabbed a small amount of the black mixture onto it, simultaneously providing ink and an icy cold numbness to the pale skin. With fast, careful strokes perfected over years of study Laurentius inlaid a series of neatly ordered swirls and lines, each connecting with the next to form a web of sorts that enclosed most of the palm, and some of the fingers. When he was done, Laurentius dunked the hand entirely in the bowl of black ink, let it drip, and wrapped it in a piece of long cloth to dry.

Then came the next one. This one went faster than the last, the pyromancer finishing just shy of eight minutes after preforming the initial incision. Just as before, the hand was submerged in ink, and wrapped to dry and heal. According to Laurentius, it shouldn't take longer than twenty or so minutes, thanks to the sickle weed - that was the green herb that'd been slowly burnt – that was inside the ink. As Mike wandered back to his bench he saw Laurentius carefully pouring the remaining ink into a large glass flask, before stowing that away in a bottomless box somewhere in his robes.

Lazuli curled tightly around his arm as Mike lifted her into his lap. After shaking her loose he simply sat, watching the residents of Firelink go about their lives. Above, Petrus had chosen to move to the back of his small chapel, a collection of sturdy pottery acting as a makeshift wall as he polished his armor, waiting for Rhea and her companions. Behind him, the two Astorans and Altin were conversing, and Griggs had finally completed his notes on the longshot dart, and looked to now be working on improving the structure.

After a bit of contemplating Mike waved the sorcerer over, Griggs choosing to sit to his left. "How're things going?" Mike asked. "Figured out anything about my spell?"

Griggs nodded excitedly. "I've never seen numbers arranged like this before, so I've had to simply avoid those, but I did manage to cut out a small section of text that was already present in the basic soul arrow, therefore lowering the cost of the spell overall. I have also found a flaw… here-" Griggs indicated a small, hastily drawn rune with his left hand. "-where you wrote a xytha, and should've had a thren. Because of that small mishap, sometimes when I cast it the spell it simply didn't respond, though that is now fixed."

Following the two largest errors was a list of potential changes that could be made, for this and that reaction from the spell. After a short bit of calculating on a separate paper exactly two changes were made, one to speed up the spell at the cost of a higher magic consumption, and another to strengthen it, again at the cost of a higher magic consumption.

With that, Griggs turned to the side to begin rewriting the new spell on two pieces of blue parchment, effectively ending their conversation. After checking his watch, Mike came to the conclusion that he needed to acquire a pair of new imaginary batteries, and decided to check in on Laurentius to see if his time was up.

When Mike returned to Laurentius he found the pyromancer carefully pruning a relatively small, probably dead tree near to his usual spot, the branches disappearing into his pockets and sleeves as they were removed with a small hand saw. Out of curiosity Mike leaned into the shadow of the firelink ruins before Laurentius could see him, his eyes following the older mans every movement.

At some point Laurentius finished trimming the tree, which now looked as though it had been purposefully cared for for far longer than it really had. With that, Laurentius simply turned and sat like normal.

"Is it time?" Mike asked curiously as he appeared, Laurentius having not seen him.

"I- yeah, if you can give me a few minutes." At Mike's confused expression he elaborated. "I need to build up a little energy first, seeing as I'm going to be lighting a little bit of your soul on fire with my own soul and all… unless you have an external energy source? I suppose a spare piece of enchanted equipment might work, though I'll need that Griggs fellow to unravel the runes first."

Mike thought for a second before reaching an arm into his pocket. When he removed it Laurentius gagged a little, for in his hands was a shriveled, dried collection of bones and dust, held together by a thin layer of skin stretched taut over its surface. After a moment, however, Laurentius noticed a familiar heat emanating from the gruesome artifact, along with a number of tightly packed runes faded with age covering the hand's leathery palm.

With a grimace Laurentius accepted the hand, ignoring a joking 'need a hand?' comment from Mike. After a moments concentration, he nodded.

"This… will do. Frankly speaking, I am surprised you've gotten this, and that it hasn't violently reacted to being carried in your pocket all this time, which, I must say is highly disturbing." Laurentius studied the hand an arms length from his face, his own pyromancy tattoos warming up with the presence of similar energies.

"Why?" Mike asked.

"This is the hand of a powerful pyromancer without a doubt, carrying with it a bit of their energies from years of use. Usually such things are cremated, along with a pyromancers remains, and buried. Where did you find this one?" Laurentius, still unwilling to bring the hand near himself, sat it down beside him.

Mike moved to the side, leaning against a small section of slightly crumbling rock as he began his story with a wave to the north. "Woke up in an asylum up there, before Oscar let me out. I found that on a corpse, frozen in the snow. Oscar couldn't feel it, but I sure as hell could. Even if I close my eyes it's just there, like a buzzing in my mind."

Laurentius glanced down at the hand, 'hmm'ed, and promptly rose to his feet. "Close your eyes." He said, lifting the hand. After Mike had done so, the pyromancer carefully moved to hold the mummified hand behind Mikes head without a sound. After setting it upon the stone Mike leaned against, he returned to his normal position.

"Behind me, up about three inches or so." Mike opened his eyes as he said this, before reaching up to grab the hand. A deft toss landed it in a startled Laurentius's lap.

"But… that's… you must've been entirely magic free for years to get that good at simply feeling its presence!" Mike nodded slowly.

"It would explain my whole lack-of-magic-resistance thing." Mike explained, showing off a few of the circle shaped scars he'd been given by the moonlight butterfly. "The last time I encountered a magic creature I was overwhelmed by the sheer power it exuded." As an afterthought, he added, "and I couldn't cast spells."

Laurentius pondered for a while, before his eyes returned to the hand. "I can't answer your questions now, but perhaps, after all of this mess is over, I can try and contact a few of my colleagues in The Great Swamp, if they're alive. Anyhow, please clamp this between your teeth, bleeding put from your tongue is not exactly pleasant."

After laying a hand lightly on the mummified one Laurentius held out a cloth wrapped stick, which Mike took with confusion. "Why would I need this? Is it painful?"

"Not usually, most parents do it when their children sleep. You're both undead, and magically sensitive. If I was to bet, this might hurt some." At that Mike clamped his teeth around the stick, warily keeping his tongue away. With careful movements Laurentius pulled his hand from the one on the ground, thin trails of orange flaring briefly as he drew flame magic from it, causing the akin to crumble apart instantly.

In a single, sharp movement Laurentius slammed his hand into Mikes shoulder, startling the younger man. As quickly as he could, Laurentius discharged the entirety of the magic into Mike, carefully manipulating his soul to draw a miniscule, one one millionth of it from the central mass, the magic slowly giving it a greater size. With his free hand Laurentius then shattered a large mass of souls against Mike, the tiny flaming soul flaring brightly in his mind as the souls were vacuumed into it.

Externally, Mike began to feel sweat beading at his brow a few minutes after Laurentius closed his eyes to work. As soon as the souls were slammed into him the heat rose again, almost dangerously high. As tightly as possible, Mike shut his eyes, the movement sending droplets of sweat to the ground like rain. Steadily his breathing became quicker, and slightly erratic, as Laurentius worked. Almost by accident did Mike move, nearly causing the plan to backfire in the process. Only Laurentius's titanite grip stopped Mike from jerking back as a searing heat suddenly erupted around his shoulder, a few small puffs of smoke emerging from the robes there a moment later.

"Laurentius, is this uh, ok?" Mike asked. His words were short and choked, the spread of all consuming heat moving down his arm and across his chest at a steady pace. Laurentius either didn't notice, or was still furiously working on containing the magic from the old pyromancer hand, because he didn't so much as flinch when small flames began to spring up around his hand, slightly singing the robes under them.

Shortly after lighting Mike on fire Laurentius's released him, his hand shaking as he drew it back to himself. His next words were calm ones as Mike flailed around, trying to bat the flames from his arms and chest.

"Please calm down, this- this shouldn't be happening. Here, let me see if I can snuff the flames out." Mike stopped just long enough for Laurentius to reach an arm into the flames licking up his body, now spreading to his back.

"Hm. It would seem the fire is fueled by an excess of magic, quite possibly from your new pyromancy flame overreacting with your already existing magic reserves. I would advise you go sit near a bonfire and wait for it to burn out, else it might well kill you." As he said this Laurentius began to write in a small notebook he'd pulled from his robes, his quill scratching across the papers in quick, sharp movements.

Just as he was leaving to sit at the bonfire, Mike got an idea. "Laurentius!" The pyromancer looked up as Mike jogged back toward him, the flames now covering most of his body. "You mentioned some sort of paper for pyromancies earlier?" Laurentius nodded slowly. "Can I have a piece?"

"Why would you- wait. You don't plan on-" Laurentius was cut off with a wave of Mike's hand.

"Yeah. Just give me a second to make sure I don't die too quickly." Laurentius began searching for a piece of ruddy red and brown paper as Mike jogged off, a series of surprised yells tracing his path through firelink. When he returned he held a small green bottle, and was drinking some of its yellow contents. As Laurentius watched Mikes skin, which had began to dry and split under the semi-intense heat healed almost instantly.

When Laurentius finally found a paper he passed it off to Mikes left hand, which had a steel gauntlet from a Balder knight over it to keep the flames from harming the paper. Almost as soon as it touched the metal a small bit of the paper flared brightly, revealing a hazy outline of a human in red colored flames.

"Neat." Mike said as he carefully held the paper, which continued to absorb ambient magic from the flames near it. After carefully rolling it up with his other hand Mike waved goodbye to Laurentius, his estus almost empty.

Crestfallen chuckled as Mike sat down on a nearby bench, still aflame. "That's a pretty neat trick." He said in his usual monotone. "Though admittedly, the smell is quite a bit less… pleasant." Mike nodded, having smelled burning flesh back in the lower burg.

Lazuli startled Mike from his thoughts by clambering up his leg, her scarf discarded on the bench to the right. Perhaps it was due to her titanite skin that she didn't get burned as she lounged across his lap, tongue lolling out lazily as she fell asleep. Mike smiled and ran a hand over his companions scales, though his gauntlets kept him from feeling the cold, glossy texture of her scales.

Almost in sync, the paper in his hand and the flames on Mike both flared brightly, before both returned to normal, the flames disappearing in a puff of smoke as the paper revealed a brand new copy of Immolation. Crestfallen chuckled to himself as Mike sat for a time, his clothing smoking profusely as he doused it in repair powder. Lazuli, woken by Mike, returned to her scarf as he stood to work on his badly singed robes.

When he was done, Mike tucked the new pyromancy in his pocket and returned to Laurentius. The pyromancer looked up as he approached.

"Ah, it's out. A good thing that, wouldn't do to be on fire for the rest of your undeath. I would've felt truly bad about that." As he spoke Laurentius pulled a small slip of paper from a pocket, revealing a small image of a candle sized flame on the front.

"A novice pyromancy, though even this might be difficult for you right now." To show its use, Laurentius held up three fingers in a way similar to how one would hold a pen. Above them appeared a small flame, flickering slightly in the breeze that occupied Firelink.

"Pyromancy is like a muscle. Unlike your sorcery, which is controlled by runes, this is controlled through sheer willpower." To show this, Laurentius suddenly spread his palm, causing the flame to grow ten times its original height above his hand.

"Like every other pyromancer, you must work to grow your willpower, not unlike how a knight like Oscar works their muscle to make it stronger." The flame disappeared into Laurentius's fist as he clenched it.

"And, as with everything, pyromancy is dangerous. You've already seen, and felt this, but don't forget, an axe is more than a weapon, and so too is pyromancy more than a force of destruction." With that, Laurentius opened his clenched palm, revealing five sparks that flitted through the air like insects before winking out one by one.

"…wow." Mike said slowly. "That's... Just wow. Were you a teacher or something, back in The Great Swamp?"

Laurentius coughed into his sleeve, hiding a look of surprise. "I suppose, somewhat. I was similar to Griggs, over there, in that I pursued knowledge. Mostly that was a copy of the speech I was given when I was a younger lad, by my ma. She taught me everything I know."

Mike nodded approvingly. "Well, I've something you might like to know." Laurentius leaned closer as Mike crouched down to where he was sitting. "In the far future, someone discovers a pyromancy that is unlike most these days, one that heals, instead of hurts, like Carmina's, in a way." Laurentius's eyes widened at that.

"Truly?!" He asked. Mike nodded. "I would try looking into either miracles, or the bonfires. There is also a shield, deep in the catacombs, that is said to have been blessed by a white flame, and that gives it regenerative powers, but I won't be there for a long time."

Laurentius nodded resolutely as Mike rose to his feet. Shortly after, he rose to his own, his hands packing up all a number of papers and items that'd been scattered on the ground around himself. "Could you perhaps give me a brief explanation of how the pyromancy worked?" He asked curiously as Mike tried bending his new pyromancy to his will.

"Oh, um… it kind of was like this." Mike clenched his hand, before pushing forward an invisible flame. "Usually a golden flame is formed in the hand, and then released into the air, where it hovers for a minute or two before disappearing. Anything near it is healed, friend or foe."

Laurentius nodded rapidly as Mike spoke, committing every word to memory. "Thank you!" He said, his eyes bright. "This… this could change everything!"

With that the pyromancer turned and dashed off in the direction of Petrus. To himself Mike swore, his hand forming a single miniscule spark as he manipulated his pyromancy flame. When another failed to appear he let his hand fall to his side, his concentration disappearing as he looked to Blighttown.

None of the rest of them would be safe, would they? Mike contemplated this as he wandered back to the bonfire, eventually deciding on leaving them all on the surface. Lazuli could far too easily fall, Oscar and Solaire would be too slow, Altin was guarding Anastasia, and Griggs was far too soft to survive down there. That left crestfallen, who probably wouldn't get up if a dragon threatened him, and Petrus, who was more likely to ditch him than help.

Before he properly entered the darkness of the swamp Mike remembered to briefly stop at Rickert's cell, a few minutes of the smith working rewarding him with an axe etched with a small blue line of titanite along the blade.

The darkness of Blighttown loomed like an ocean in front of him as Mike peered over the edge. For the sake of speed whilst descending, all of his items, save for his staff, were tucked away in his bottomless box.

As he was trying to discern the bottom of the never ending blackness Mike was brought to awareness by the groaning of a board right behind himself.

"What the-" His question was cut off as a large club sent him flying like a ragdoll, out, and above the swamp, and into its infinite, inky blackness. And so began the short journey of one named Thomas, who would afterward be known to few for many years to come.

 _ **Again late because of... Stuff. Family life kinda a pain into he arse, but that's neither here nor there. I got a new member on my server the other day, a nice guy named Blaze. the rest of you guys can join too, just pop me an email at ifenris 42 gmail dot com. Might take a while if it goes to spam.**_

 _ **Anyway, Blighttown arc is fully planned, and it'll be out the right time next week. If you've read the old version, which I'll be taking down when I'm done writing this, then you kind of know it a bit. There'll be changes of course, so I would advise you read these, they're my favorites so far.**_

 _ **Later my dudes.**_


	12. Chapter XII

Mike awoke with a soft cough that seemed to echo around him, accompanied by a constant, low rustling noise that seemed to consume the sound entirely. As his eyes fluttered open he noticed a peculiar heat seeping into his shoulders and the backs of his knees, warm, and slightly damp, as though someone held wet rags against the spots.

Accompanying the heat was a continuous rocking motion, each dip and rise accompanied by a gurgling 'pop!' that seemed to come from below him. When his eyes finally came into focus, he realized he was being carried, and by a narrow faced you woman at that. Especially pale, with a somewhat motherly appearance, his carrier held a glassy look in her eyes, and her brow was fully drenched in perspiration that seemed to dissipate into steam every get seconds.

With nothing more to do, he let himself fall back into the woman's arms, his eyelids already drooping. By the time his holder looked back down to check on her passenger he was fast asleep, with nothing to tell he had been awake, save for a small dot of bright crimson on his brow where he'd split a series of scabbing wounds covering the left half of his face.

Her determination fierce, Quelana moved like this through the sludge of the swamp for hours, alone save for the occasional mosquito that would flit by, and the rustling of swamp reeds. To stave off the treacherous poison held in the mire's water she would occasionally will a flash sweat into being in her palm, before pressing it into her chest, the effects near instant.

Combined with power within, however, Quelana found herself struggling to stand by the fourth hour of her trek. Her decrepit frame screamed for mercy as she forged on through the swamp, brushing aside swathes or reeds and bits of shattered wood as she continued toward a towering shadow far in the distance.

Time seemed to warp around her as Quelana continued to waste away, under the effects of both power within and the swamp's toxins. Her skin had taken on a sickly yellow pallor hours past, and as she walked she noticed a small deviation in her breathing as her body fought to continue through the pain of carrying another through the poison infested drainage pit.

Finally, hours, or even days after she had found her companion facedown in the mud, Quelana came upon one of the many leeches that dotted the edges of the swamp, her hand mercilessly bringing it death in the form of a tightly knotted speck of flame the size of her thumb. Three more befell the same fate before the tired chaos sister fell to her knees inside of a great hollow carved into a greater archtree. Before sleep took her she curled into her robes in a corner, hoping the shadows would hide her from the unknown figure she had discovered if he turned out to hold malign intentions.

With her last waking seconds Quelana used the edge of one of her nails to sear a small series of elegant symbols into the wood around herself, the magic harboring bark hissing loudly as she forced her own burning magic into the mix, forming her first sorcery in centuries. Were anyone watching, it would look as though the spot where she sat had turned into a pile of rubble, like the rest that was piled inside the hollow.

With that, she slept, sinking into a black, dreamless void that comforted her strained mind with a soft, warm touch.

* * *

When he woke, it was intense. Everything was blindingly harsh against his half-opened eyes, and so much as a light breeze sent chills through his body, causing something to clatter under him.

He didn't remember lying on anything. Had he rolled over in his sleep, and if so, where was he sleeping that he could roll onto something so loud? Confused and unsure of where he was, he pulled himself up slowly, his back protesting as he straightened it painfully. When that was done, he noticed his hands, or more importantly, what was on them. From right to left were a ring with a wolf on it, a silver one with polished brown rocks, another silver one holding a pale blue gemstone cut into a teardrop shape, and a pair of flat blue ones with colorful engraving of draconian beings on them.

"Who's… are these?" He asked himself, before noticing his gloves. Each was an off white color, and quite filthy, though a few strands of color could be seen through the grime.

"I- these… Aaagh!" He fell over as a spike of burning pain seared through the nerves on the left side of his face, bringing him to his knees as his hands rose to grasp what felt like coarse sandpaper covering his skin. When the appendages came away the cloth of his gloves was stained with red.

After a while the pain faded, and he began to think again. Returning to his hands, he turned them over a few times, noticing an odd black squiggle that seemed to stand out from the dirt and mud covering him. After carefully removing the rings he'd woken with he gasped at the sight of a long line of intricate tattoos covering both of his palms in a twisting, confusing pattering that led him in circles as he tried following them to an endpoint.

After tugging his comfortable gloves back on he decided to pat down the rest of his body to see what other surprises his clothes held. Following a number of sticks that had been tipped with metal he also found a small wooden rectangle the size of his palms next to each other and an iron strip clamped tightly around his wrist, which seemed to do something odd to the mud still coating his body when he tightened a small clasp on it. As soon as the metal firmly pressed into his skin the mud began sloughing off in large clumps, leaving clean skin and cloth behind with no trace of it having been there in the first place. He stared at the iron strip with renewed interest, but was forced to drop it as his foot touched something soft and warm.

He was confused when he looked down at the floor, which held little more than shattered bits of wood and metal and the occasional fraying string. As far as he could see into the shadows against the wall was little more than a stack of large wooden squares placed on each other in a triangle shape, yet, when he tried to touch one his hand seemed to just… move to the side, as though repelled by some unseen force.

Redoubling his efforts led to another spike of mind-numbing pain, not unlike what had happened earlier. As he sat there, clutching the side of his face as though that would help, he tried again to breach the barrier around the boxes, again enduring pain as he forced his hand to hold steady.

"What… are you hiding?" he asked to himself as he continued to scoot forward along the floor, wetness pooling at his feet as his left eye began watering from the strain of forcing himself onward.

As suddenly as the pain had begun, it ended, fading in a matter of seconds until he wasn't sure if he had actually been feeling it. It was then that he noticed an odd discrepancy in the squares piled in front of him, for when he focused, he could see the exact same chipped corner in each of them, and all had a slightly warped strip of metal running along their tops, with a slight upward bend at the end.

Now thoroughly intrigued, he approached the squares at a slow, careful pace, his right hand held out to catch himself if something were to cause the intense pain again. Something about them began to change, little by little as he approached, and a queer feeling began to fill the air as he came within an arms length of the duplicate squares. The feeling only grew as he reached out to touch one of the wooden squares, until his hand, startling, disappeared into one as though it wasn't ere.

Had he known of the magic around the squares, he might've been inclined to leave them be. However, that was not to be as he cautiously pulled his hand from the illusion. His only warning of the coming eruption of pain and magic was a slight increase in that odd feeling seconds before the illusion broke, sending him flying across the room and into the wall on the far side, where he then slumped in a heap on the floor, dazed.

* * *

Quelana woke with a start, a sharp eruption of spun and magic leading her to believe someone had managed to breach her barrier, and attempted to pass her illusions. As her eyes fluttered open and she raised her hands to defend herself she caught sight of the young man she'd found in the swamp falling to the floor, his face split open and leaking blood at an alarming rate.

Still wary, Quelana held a flame in her left hand as she raced forward to stop the bleeding, a carefully positioned solid flame doing the trick nicely. The smell of burning skin and hair moved throughout the room as she withdrew, the young man beginning to wake.

"What…?" He mumbled as he squinted at Quelana through half closed eyes, his left hand unconsciously movie to run a hand over the hot skin on his left cheek. As he rose to his full height Quelana let out a startled breath, able to see his face fully as he stumbled unsteadily toward her.

Quite possibly he would have immense scarring because of his fall, and now her, even if he was able to find a bonfire somewhere within a few days time. The entire left side of his face looked as though he had been dragged across a piece of rough stone, and now was riddled with a number of bright crimson lines where the scabbing wounds had been opened by her magic.

He looked as though he'd cleaned himself since she'd fallen asleep, though she could not surmise how after noticing the puddle of muddy water nearby, exactly where she had left him. When she looked back to him he was trying to open his left eye with his hands, but looked to be having trouble doing so.

"E-excuse me miss… but could you tell me where I am? I don't remember read- AAGH!" a scream shattered the soft atmosphere as he fell to his knees, clutching his head as screams left his mouth. When he stopped, soft sobs wracked his body.

"Every time…" He muttered quietly, lying on his side. In a sudden, sharp movement he turned on Quelana.

"I can't… I can't remember." He said slowly, his breathing labored. "If I try to think of my name- ngh, this happens." He gestured at himself lazily, cringing as she reached for him, her eyes soft.

"You don't remember anything?" Quelana asked in a soft voice, laced with confusion. He shook his head slowly.

"I don't know, anything I try to remember just… hurts. So did that spot you were in, and so did that wall." He absentmindedly fiddled with a glove when she turned to a wall behind a large pile of boxes, confused.

"But, there's no one else here…" Quelana muttered to herself as she approached the wall, pushing past a number of boxes that were probably from someone long dead or hollow. As she neared a slight wave of nausea washed over her, until she reached out to touch to wood, ending the unusual feeling.

"Is it…?" He asked slowly, wary of the wood that'd hurt to touch. He let out a small gasp when Quelana stepped through the wood, disappearing. After a moment she passed back through, a crease now in place on her forehead.

"This shouldn't be here…" She muttered to herself as she paced back and forth, her hand against the illusory wall. Passages such as these had once been commonplace, back then, but now? They all should've ed up or collapsed, the fact that this one existed struck a fearful chord in her heart.

"How did you- Aah!" He tripped as he neared the wall, and ended up passing through it and beyond before landing heavily on the far side. When Quelana looked down to see what he'd tripped on she saw naught but a handful of wooden planks wrapped in meta, a makeshift shield of some sort.

On the other side he was lying on the floor, breathing heavily. Quelana coughed slightly to cover her soft laugh, her companion already picking himself up slowly.

"What is… whoa." He stopped when be began to look around the enclosed space they had stepped into, which seemed to stretch into infinity before him. Just as curious as he, Quelana held up her hand slowly, a small flame proving adequate light to show their surroundings. He shied away from it slowly, Quelana noticed.

Their small foray into the hidden space ended rather quickly, the hall ending with a large wooden chest lying on the floor sideways. He went to open it immediately, leaving Quelana to poke at the walls around themselves, looking for other secrets.

Quelana's flame went out suddenly as she turned to him, having felt a poke on her shoulder. In his hands was a roiling mass of humanity, in the form of two sprites that danced and spun as he cupped them in his palms.

"What are these?" He asked innocently, staring at the sprites like he'd caught some injured animal. A frown marred Quelana's face as she remembered the black mark on the back of his left hand.

"That is… humanity." Quelana began. "You are cursed, by that mark on you hand, therefore you must have humanity to keep yourself sane. I, however, cannot touch it, else I become ill."

He stared at the sprite with new wonder as she returned to the walls, moving steadily toward the now upright chest where he'd found the sprite. There was a slight 'pop' behind her as he absorbed the humanity, followed by a series of heavy breathing. She turned to him in confusion.

"I-I don't-" he looked about ready to fall to his knees as he stared at the empty space in his palms. "I was just looking at them and I- they broke! I broke them!" This time he did fall to his knees, staring blankly at where the sprites had been.

"Calm down." Quelana commanded as she knelt to talk to him, a hand moving to rest on his shoulder. "You did nothing of the sort. That is their purpose, to enter you, and help you grow stronger. If anything, this might help you remember."

He looked up slowly as she said this. "Really?" Curiosity laced his voice as he stared into her dark amber eyes.

"I am positive." Quelana reassured, startling herself in the process. Why did she so wish to help this young undead, who had fallen from above and lived? Was it his innocence? Her loneliness? Quelana meditated on this as she returned to the walls, her hand sliding over smooth bark as she continued searching the cave.

He simply knelt behind her, until she heard a soft few words echo through the hollow.

"My name is… Thomas."


	13. Chapter XIII

_**Because my discord server forgot how to type, I have decided to upload JUST THIS chapter early. This is a one time early for now because I was kind of impatient. Anyway, this is the first time I've delved into much serious emotional writing that's not super simple, so if its too bad I would LOVE a review or a pm with things I should change, I absolutely love hearing feedback and implementing it into my writing.**_

 _ **Anyway, story. Meet Thomas.**_

"Thomas. Are you sure of this?" Quelana asked, still probing the wall, this time to the right. As she neared the back of the cave he-Thomas nodded.

"It- it was like I was there. Everything was blurry, and it sounded funny, but someone said my name, and I- then it ended." Thomas stared down at his hands, dirty, scratched up, and tattooed, as though they held some unseen knowledge just under the surface.

"Ah!" Quelana exclaimed as a section of the wall suddenly turned insubstantial under her hands. Thomas looked up just in time to see her fall through the illusory wood, before Perkin her face back out. He noted a slightly drawn look to her features as she beckoned for him to follow her.

Just as before, the wood was difficult for Thomas to touch, and required a great deal of pushing past the mental barrier that seemed to hold him back. When he managed to get his hand through, however, the rest came easily, the invisible barrier gone.

"This was once a place where we fled from below." Quelana explained as she led him to a ladder, the bottom dark. When she was down she held up a flame to light the way, its movements sending flickering shadows across the walls. Thomas continued to skitter away from the flame as she raised it higher, illuminating a large opening farther along.

Thomas came screeching to a halt as the cave opened into a wide room that seemed to stretch on forever, though Quelana eventually found a far wall with a large flame. The two stood on a shelf-like platform that jutted into the middle of the space, which gave way to a hole as wide as the room that stretched into infinity downward. Above, the two could barely make out the light from the surface, a mere pinprick of light in the dark.

Thomas was startled by a loud 'whoosh' to his right, prompting Quelana to turn in surprise to a now lit bonfire. Tucked into a corner, Thomas had accidentally gotten close enough for it to flare to life, and as she watched his face began to return to a semblance of normal.

Thomas reached up slowly to itch the left side of his face as he stared at the flames, which flickered and writhed as though they were alive. It came as a surprise when his hand found not scabbing wounds, but smooth skin, flaking off dried blood.

"What…?" Thomas asked in confusion. As she could control fire, he turned to Quelana for an answer.

"That's… a bonfire." Quelana answered slowly, suddenly aware of the weariness in her entire body. The rest earlier had helped, but her fatigue gnawed inside of her like a rabid animal. "They heal most nonlethal injuries with the power of the first flame… but why is one here? There were never fires in…" she trailed off as she approached the fire, standing shoulder to shoulder with Thomas. As one the two lowered themselves to the floor, embracing the heat and rejuvenating qualities of the golden flames licking across the ash it was on.

"Why doesn't it burn the tree?" Thomas asked curiously a few minutes later. Quelana shrugged in response.

"The flame does as it wants, I suppose. I would not touch that were I-" Thomas yelped and jumped back as he tried touching the sword jutting from the center of the fire, a large blister adorning the tip of his index finger.

"It does as it wants." Quelana repeated. Thomas glared at the fire and sat a few feet back, enough to get the healing properties of it, but out of its warmth.

"Why doesn't your fire burn you?" Thomas asked a few moments later as he thought back to the red fires Quelana could hold in her hands.

"I am named Quelana, daughter of Quel. Few flames can hope to penetrate my robe, and those that do would be simple too manipulate through my pyromancy." Quelana held up a small fireball in her palm for emphasis. The flames licked around her skin harmlessly, though she snuffed it out a moment later. In those few moments as the flame disappeared and he could see her palms Thomas let out a startled breath, his eyes on her palms.

Like a ceased person Thomas tore off his gloves, his movements jerky and unsteady as he scooted over to Quelana, who jerked back as he grabbed her smaller hands.

"What-?" Thomas pulled her palm into the range of the fires light, enough to see that her hands had runes just like his on and around her palms, though these stretched to encompass her wrists.

"What are these?!" Thomas demanded, the steel in his voice startling Quelana.

"I- runes, developed to use pyromancy. Why are you-" Thomas dropped her hand suddenly, before scrambling back into a wall. His face turned shades of red, and then darker as he clenched his fists, filling his mind with the idea of him holding a flame, like Quelana had. Maybe I he could use the same magic as her, he could-

"You'll get nowhere like that." Quelana said slowly, watching as Thomas then tried grabbing a piece of flame from the bonfire. Even as his hands burned and healed he continued to do so.

"But it might help-" Thomas stopped as a hand came down on his own, pulling them back form the ethereal flames.

"Thomas." Thomas stopped and moved his full attention to Quelana, her tone serious. "Calm down, you're going to hurt yourself permanently at this rate. Surely there is a way to retrieve your memories, but flailing around and not listening to the thousand year old master of pyromancy will get you nowhere."

Still nursing the burn on his index finger, Thomas nodded slowly. After rummaging through a pocket hidden in the folds of her tattered black robbed Quelana eventually retrieved a piece of ruddy red paper the size of her palm and adorned with a number of golden specks in an upside down cone shape. After handing it to Thomas she stepped back from him, holding both arms out in front of herself with her hands apart and eyes closed in concentration.

Startling Thomas, a loud crackle signaled the use of Quelana's pyromancy, followed by an explosion of golden sparks that sent Thomas staggering back. Working her hands into a cupped position, Quelana then directed the shower of sparks into the air above them, illuminating a portion of the hollow before the tiny specks burnt out.

"Now, you." Quelana commanded. Thomas, assuming the showy pyromancy had something to do with the paper he was holding, this time focused on the small red square, letting the image of sparks engulf his mind as he warily extended a hand.

Quelana let slip a small laugh as a single spark flew from Thomas's fingertips, blinking out seconds after appearing. Thomas frowned at the measly display, reaching for the heady, thick warmth that perched on the edge of his consciousness, not pulling it, but this time encouraging it to form the golden, sparkly lights that had appeared before.

So focused was his concentration that he didn't realize what was happening as a small spark sprang to life in his palm, encouraged by both the paper and Thomas to grow into a shower of sparks. The flame did just that, releasing a hissing noise just before releasing a steady stream of twinkling sparks that bounced when they touched the floor, scattering harmlessly around the hollow.

Thomas didn't notice the instability in his pyromancy flame until it was too late, and the sparks dimmed until they simply faded from existence.

"Thomas, you should-" Quelana winced back as Thomas crumpled to the floor in a heap, his breath coming in short bursts. Quelana put on the best frown she could muster, and moved to sit down next to her new student.

Www

"Thomas!" Quelana called sharply, her yell echoing through the hollow. Far below she heard a response return from somewhere amongst the tangle of dead branches, followed by a brief flare of light.

For three days the pair had simply sat in the great hollow, talking whenever Thomas wasn't passed out from magic exhaustion. Steadily his pyromancy flame had grown under the intense pressure it endured, and now he could hold a candle sized flame for almost an hour at a time. This had allowed him to traverse the treacherous branches of the tree below, and so he had, despite Quelana's warnings against it.

Currently he had been below for almost two hours, presumably by conserving his magic. In her hands Quelana held a new pyromancy for her student, a small, weak form of the basic fireball spell she had been teaching the paper for a half day or so. She intended to give the spell to Thomas when he returned, and to also to be sure he was not straining himself overmuch.

Thomas returned to the top of the ascendable hollow thirty odd minutes later, panting and out of breath. At Quelana's strength stare he grinned, holding up something he'd been holding to his chest. In his hands was a length of archtree wood nearly three feet long, but barely as thick as Quelana's wrist.

"You spent so much time down there… for a stick?" Quelana asked slowly, her face betraying confusion and not a little anger at his unnecessary time wasting.

"And this, it moved when I got near so I had to be careful not to touch it." Thomas explained as he pulled a small bundle of cloth from his pocket. With the tip of his stick he pried the cloth away from the top, revealing a pale green blossom that trembled as a small gust met its surface.,

"That's…!" Quelana slid back from the small green plant, which looked to be swaying slightly toward Thomas's hand.

"How is there a new one…?" Quelana asked softly, her eyes glued to the small green vine. Thomas shrugged.

It was stuck to a rock when I found it. Is it bad? What is it?" Thomas continued rattling off observations and questions as Quelana tried understanding the archtree sapling held so loosely before her.

They all died! She screamed internally, her mind hesitantly flicking back to the days of old, when she and her sisters had allowed their flame consume massive, miles wide swathes of land, burning all under a layer of ash so thick-

"Ow!" Thomas exclaimed, startling her from Quelana from her thoughts. When she looked up she saw him hastily trying to shake something off of his right hand. Upon inspecting it more closely, Quelana froze upon seeing a small ring of green wrapped tightly around Thomas's right index finger, the blossom at the top near to his knuckle.

"Stop that!" Quelana scolded as Thomas tried prying the rare plant off. "These shouldn't even exist ant more! Where did you find this one?"

Thomas pointed below with his left hand as he nursed his right, the small sapling still tightly wrapped around his finger.

"A survival mechanism to ensure it is both safe, and has a source of magical energy to stockpile for a later point of growth. Those shouldn't even exist, we were quite thorough in making sure the dragons didn't have any more places to roost." Quelana paced back and forth as Thomas stood near the no fire, staring at the green plant ring wrapped tightly around his finger.

Quelana stopped pacing and suddenly moved to sit next to the fire, her head lowering into her hands. "Its not that they're bad, not necessarily. Its just… there were none left! Sure, a few trees here and there, but they were all dead, like this one!" Quelana knocked the wood beside herself for emphasis, a dull ringing sound echoing through the hollow in response.

"…not down there.." Thomas muttered quietly. Quelana turned on him sharply.

"You're positive of this?!" She demanded, stepping toward the shy amnesiac. Thomas nodded slowly.

"I couldn't see much, but the wally… well, they were green. And covered in vines." Quelana took a sharp intake of breath as she processed the new information.

"B-but… that means…" Quelana trialed off slowly as her yes grew misty, her mind elsewhere. To Thomas's shock, she then leaned back against the trunk of the hollow, a slight sob shaking her as she slid to the floor.

"I- we…" Thomas stared in confusion, unsure of what to do to comfort Quelana. Slowly, she turned to him, hiccupping as she fought to control herself.

"We killed them all, because the dragons lived in them." She explained slowly, deliberately. Her hands absentmindedly held an invisible staff as she recalled the days of The Great Destruction. But they were so beautiful, standing so tall…" She trailed off slowly, looking to the floor in shame.

"And we burned them. Without hesitation I and my sisters and mother drove firestorms greater than this swamp through the trees, reducing them to cinders in mere moments." Thomas noticed Quelana running a hand over the cold bark of the hollow as she spoke. "We left few behind, and only those dead, to eventually crumble. This one I thought dead too, until now…"

"Thomas." Quelana stood as she said his name, startling Thomas as she grabbed his hand. "Thank you. I- I had thought the archtrees gone, and feared the past far more than I should have ever fallen to. It was why I turned to pyromancy, in the hopes that I could produce something similar to mother's flame sorceries but more accessible to all, so as to not let a few hold as great a power as we did."

In a startling turn of events Quelana tentatively wrapped her arms around Thomas, before retreating seconds after, her cheeks flushed a light pink in the dim firelight.

"I-" Thomas began, before his eyes saw how close Quelana was standing to the edge of the platform. He hadn't noticed her approaching the edge until it was too late, and as she moved back her foot caught a small lip in the wood, turning her momentum against her as she toppled backward.

"Miss Quelana!" Thomas screamed, diving for her flailing form. His voice caught in his throat as he dove over the edge in an attempt at saving her.

"Aa- Oof!" Thomas's breath hitched as he heard Quelana thump just below him. Had she fallen on an unseen branch, or maybe the stump the archtree sapling had been in?

A sudden tugging on his arm startled Thomas out of his panicked state, and, much to his disbelief, when he turned his eyes to the outstretched limb he saw none other than a small branch emerging from the hollow just under his elbow, shaking slightly, as though it had just been pulled…

"Quelana?" Thomas called down slowly. The words echoed into the darkness for a minute before he heard a response.

"I-" Quelana's voice caught, turning into a coughing fit. When she spoke again her voice was slightly strained.

"I grabbed a branch!" She yelled up, sending relief flooding through Thomas. "I don't know how well it'll hold, but it feels- ah!" The branch under Thomas's arm jerked suddenly.

"I'm not going to hold out much longer!" Thomas grabbed the branch instantly, surprising himself with his own strength as he single handedly pulled the unusual tree limb back. Quelana shrieked slightly at the movement, the noise echoing around loudly.

"Thomas I'm-" Quelana was cut off as she was engulfed in a set of tough, dirty robes that smelled slightly like incense and… burned skin? That aside, Quelana let herself be pulled back from the abyss of darkness, her breath still uneven as Thomas unraveled the branch she had caught a hold of.

"Hey." Thomas said as he nudged her shoulder, the branch in his hands. Quelana took it when he extended it to her, confusion on her face as she turned over the suspiciously pliable piece of archtree wood.

"This is…" Quelana began.

"Fake." Thomas answered, twisting the wood into a loose knot for emphasis. "No, more like… different. But watch this."

Thomas held up the end of the branch, which Quelana had grabbed, and showed her where the knobby wood split into five smaller limbs.

"What am I looking at?" Quelana asked slowly, turning over the oddly hand-shaped branch. Her breath halted as Thomas raised his own right hand, closing it sharply into a fist. It took all of Quelana's willpower not to stagger back, screaming, as the branch did the same.

When she looked back to Thomas's face, her own switched between fear, confusion, and then shock as he closed his eyes, his breath ragged. The branch fell limply to the ground as he opened his fist, and his last word before he fell limply beside it was "oops."


	14. Chapter XIV

Almost four weeks passed calmly. Then, suddenly-

"QUELANA!"

Quelana woke with a gasp, her hands instinctively flaring into two twin suns as she shot to her feet. Confusion passed over her face briefly as she rocketed through the hollow and past the illusions, her haste to get to the sound of struggling sending boxes and shattered garbage flying as she charged ahead.

Quelana drew a sharp breath as she came to a halt just outside the hollow, her feet sliding on something dark and slick that was slightly warm, even in the omnipresent heat of the swamp. Her breath caught in the back of her throat as she spotted Thomas some way out, thrashing wildly as leeches the size of wolves clung to his body, writhing in an attempt to take him down that was close to succeeding.

"My arm!" Thomas suddenly screamed as a leech latched on just under his shoulder, its razor teeth rapidly shearing through his meager cloth robing and into the soft flesh below. Quelana sucked in a sharp breath as read doused the cloth around the leech, the source of the slickness underfoot.

"Hold on!" Quelana yelled as she bolted down the wooden ramp, her flaming hands pulled back as of to punch the leeches. Her first fireball exploded some ways to the left of Thomas, clearing a mass of leeches there that looked as though they were about to mob him. Her follow up combustion cleared a path through the mud before her easily, the flame shriveling the leeches into husks in seconds.

Thomas toppled backwards in an explosion of muddy water as she drew closer, his thrashing slowing significantly.

"Quelana, kill them!" Thomas yelled from his position in the mud, still being ripped at by leeches. Where he had accidently scratched himself on a piece of wood blood ran down his chin, some getting in his mouth and causing him to hack and wheeze as he choked on his own life.

Quelana nervously doused the leeches in the immediate area in flame, burning them to crisps as she went all out with her power. Cold sweat drenched her spine as she stared at the leeches atop her student, her minds eye flashing back to the firestorms she had recently recalled.

"Quelana!" Thomas's voice had grown weaker in the few precious seconds she had faltered, and as she looked down and connected her dull amber eyes with his blue ones she snapped, running forward trailing hot flames as she brought down the wrath of an angry chaos sisters on the leeches that dared attack Thomas.

With her bare hands Quelana tore leeches from Thomas, who convulsed violently as their razor teeth were ripped from his wounded flesh. As the leeches flew through the air they exploded in showers of putrid slime, not fully burnt, but bloated on enough blood to be affected by the flames wreathing Quelana's hands.

Quelana's breaths came in great heaves as she wrapped both arms around Thomas's waist, a power within flickering to life near instantly as she threw him over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Up the ramp she raced, diving over the rubble effortlessly as she made a mad dash for the bonfire, uncaring for the blood and mud that was steadily soaking into her robes.

Quelana slammed to a halt when the cave began to widen around d her, before turning to the bonfire nearby. Gently she lowered Thomas down nearby it, before letting the power within wear off.

"Oh…" Quelana slumped to the ground just as Thomas was, the toll from her enhancing spell taken. Everything hurt, badly, yet she still made sure Thomas was lying comfortably before she let herself fall to the floor, her everything aching and burning at the same time.

In their dazed mindsets, neither Thomas nor Quelana noticed as their arms found each other in the dark, nor how Quelana fell asleep leaning back against Thomas's shoulder. Had either of them known, more than likely a lot of startled apologies and moving away would follow. Neither did.

* * *

Thomas woke from sleep slowly, his eyes taking a deal of time to focus as he returned to full consciousness. Quelana fared similarly, her eyes fluttering open as Thomas tried rising to his feet, only to find Quelana leaned up against him.

The two locked eyes silently, both curiously looking at the other.

""I'm-"" Both froze as the other spoke.

"You first." Thomas said hastily.

"I'm, I'm sorry about the last few weeks." Quelana said quietly, her eyes roaming to the side, where Thomas had set up a pile of sticks he'd collected from below. "Just… all of this new information, and thinking of before…" Quelana trialed off slowly.

Thomas nodded slowly in agreement. "I was just so bored." He stated simply. "You didn't want to talk, and the swamp was always 'too dangerous' to go into… so I waited for you to nod off before sneaking away. I guess that wasn't a very good idea." He laughed dryly as he looked down at a number of large holes cut out of his robes, exposing his pale skin to the world. Quelana cringed slightly when she saw them.

"I'm sort I didn't-" Thomas cut her off with a wave of his hand.

"Its not your fault, they attacked me, and it was because I was stupid anyway." At this point, he did sit up, Quelana moving away as he did so.

"Those aren't even the worst this out there, are they?" Thomas asked a few minutes later. Quelana shook her head slowly.

"Past those are a number of horrible spider creatures that spit flames and fly, and beyond those ten foot tall hollow miners that wield boulders as tall as you, and easily as wide. All through he swamp there are also mosquitoes the size of your hand, with deathly poisonous bites." Thomas blanched at the mention of the mosquitoes, already scared of one kind of bloodsucking creature.

With a heavy sigh Thomas rose to his feet, before finding a suitable stick to act as a club until he could find a new one.

"I'm going to see if I can go any deeper, and see if anything is there. It might take a while." With that, he descended a nearby branch that sank into the darkness, swallowing his figure in an instant. Even the small flame he used for light faded after a few moments, leaving Quelana in utter silence.

Quiet sobs wracked the hollow as Quelana sat in silence, angry at herself, Thomas, and every creature that inhabited the gods damned swamp preventing their escape.

* * *

Thomas angrily stormed down familiar branches and paths he'd taken numerous times, his light guiding him well enough for the time being. He hated that he had so easily fallen to the leeches outside, and that he was so incompetent at even defending himself that he'd had to make Quelana think of her past because of it

Quelana. He wasn't sure how to think of the chaos witch now. Of course she taught him pyromancy, and had provided him companionship for almost a month, but every time he turned around she was either scared, mad, or plain confusing, such as how he had awoken earlier.

With a sigh Thomas banished all the thoughts from his head, focusing on the darkness ahead of himself instead. The next path was always confusing, for it required a slight drop down that always caught Thomas off guard. After finding a tiny blue twinkle off in the distance Thomas flared his light, illuminating a small patch of wood below himself that jutted from the wall below. He fled proud when he dropped down without flinching, his feet sending twin thumps through the tree.

Instead of the usual branch leading farther below, Thomas decided to take another route this time, aiming for a hollow that seemed to twist downward into the archtree where the platform he stood on met the wall. With cautious footsteps he moved forward, waving his hand left and right to illuminate the small cavern.

Momentarily he was distracted as a ledge above caught his attention, the only possible way up to it a small branch that curved sharply downward nearby. In his momentary lapse of caution Thomas gave a start as his left foot suddenly encountered nothing but air, his scream failing to fully escape him before his breath was knocked out by the root he landed on.

"Ohhhhh…" Thomas groaned as he tried to pry himself from where he'd fallen, his back releasing a series of possibly back popping noises as he straightened it. As he sat up he flicked a small flame to life in his palm, illuminating the cave he'd dropped into.

And its inhabitants.

Suffice to say, Thomas released an ear splitting screech when he first locked eyes with an enormous, bulbous ringed pair staring at him out of the darkness. His breath came out in terrified pants as he scrambled back, his hands searching for purchase on the smooth archtree wood he was on.

The eyes came closer yet, soon followed by a second pair that emerged from somewhere to the left. Dozens of thought scrambled for purchase in his mind as Thomas tried to figure out what to do. He was weaponless, his stick somewhere in the darkness, and his pyromancy was far from strong enough to kill, even when he'd dropped a fireball on his foot the only damage it'd done was burn a circle in the hair it touched and left a small red spot for a few minutes.

The bulbous eyes eventually made it into his circle of light as Thomas bumped his head against a wall, revealing dark, lizard's bodies that awkwardly waddled toward him with soft croaking noises. The noises grew to a crescendo when a third lizard emerged from the darkness, this one seemingly signaling the other two, as they all simultaneously reared back, their throats bulging oddly.

Before Thomas could think to move out of the way they dropped, spewing a chalky, heavy cloud of dark grey smoke across him with long hisses, engulfing him, and his vision entirely. Thomas gagged as the dust wormed its way up his nose and down his throat, a scream trying to work its way past the noxious gas.

Thomas's last thoughts before his eyes glazed over and her turned to stone were of how he regretted not having done more in his short time since waking in the hollow a month earlier.

* * *

Quelana was pulled sharply from her thoughts as a gasping cough erupted from behind her, followed by the sound of rapid dry heaving, and soft moaning. She gasped upon turning to find the noise's source, for there next to the bonfire was Thomas, his body trembling as he dry heaved over the edge of the platform.

"Thomas…" Quelana gaped when he turned to her, his eyes betraying the fear he no doubt felt at the moment.

"Quelana." Thomas croaked, moving toward her. His movements were jerks and slow, and his skin drawn tight, with a dark, leathery look to it.

Thomas had died.

Quelana drew in a breath and hurriedly moved to Thomas's side, guiding his shriveled body toward the bonfire as her mind worked on overdrive trying to guess what happened.

"Quelana I… I died!" Thomas shook and clenched her arms as she pulled him to the flames, his body as light as a child's. When she looked to his face, Quelana found pure terror there.

"Th-they were big, ugly black things, and, and they puked on me, and-" Thomas collapsed onto the floor in a ball, shaking and moaning softly.

"It all hurts!" He cried suddenly, startling Quelana. "Why didn't I die?! How did I…?"

Quelana made a soft 'shh'ing noise as Thomas rocked back and forth, her hand finding its way to his own leathery one.

"I didn't tell you, because I didn't want you to be reckless…" Quelana said slowly, her hand massaging a small black circle on Thomas's left hand. "This… is a darksign. It revives you when you die… but at the cost of your humanity." Her words came slowly, and Thomas turned at the mention of humanity.

"Like, that warm black stuff that was into there?" He pointed a shaky hand at the tunnel leading to the outside, and Quelana nodded.

"Would… would this work then?" Thomas reached into a pocket, before carefully drawing out a humanity sprite from within. "It was on top of a pile of ripped clothes down there, I found it a while ago."

Quelana nodded, and almost immediately Thomas clenched his hand around the sprite, absorbing it instantly. His breath felt sharper as he pried himself off he floor and wiped his face, which was just as leathery feeling as the rest of him.

"Why do I look old?" Thomas asked suddenly as he noticed his hands. Quelana covered her smile with a hand as she pointed to the bonfire.

"Now you've got to offer the humanity to the bonfire, it'll fix your skin, and you'll look normal again." Thomas skittered to the fire warily, before reaching a hand out to it slowly. A small spark jumped between the two, and he jerked back suddenly, his hand now human. When he felt his face it, too was normal again. He heaved a sigh and turned to Quelana.

"Thanks." He said softly in the darkness, before surprising her with an embrace. After a moment she nodded and lightly reached up to pat his back. When he pulled back, his eyes were half lidded already, and before he could say more he passed out in her arms.

 _ **Sorry I was late yesterday. Am totally absorbed in My Hero Academia right now, and might be planning another fic for the future. This will come first though, at least until I hit about bed of chaos or so. At that point I might switch up my schedule, I don't know yet.**_

 _ **On a similar note, if anyone wants to be an editor PM me and I'll Gert around to it as quickly as possible**_


	15. Chapter XV

Suffice to say, after the events in the lower areas of the hollow, Thomas was extremely skittish of the entire thing. Logically he told himself if he had just seen the fall he might've lived, but then his last memories before dying resurfaced and banished the thoughts in a cloud of grey.

Though he didn't know it, he was cursed, through and through. His sudden unusual lack of strength, physically and magically, was simply attributed to his recent death, and Quelana knew little more about the basilisks than he.

The two lived peacefully in the hollow as they had before, with one exception. Following his death and the leech incident Quelana has instituted herself in Thomas's pyromancy training like no other student before him, both spending hours at a time carefully manipulating fire in different ways.

Little more than a week after the incidents, Thomas brought to Quelana's attention a question he had mulled over for a time in his head.

"Quelana?" He began as the two wound down from a full hour of holding a shaped orb of flame in place.

Quelana looked up from the pyromancy paper she was working on with a start. "Yes?" Her tone was surprised, mostly, the two had fully immersed themselves in practice after the accidents, and they had spoken of little more since then.

"What was it like, living in the swamp?" Thomas's voice was full of curiosity, but betrayed a small amount of fear at the mention of Blighttown. Quelana frowned and set aside her paper.

"Mostly… I just waited." She began, her eyes growing distant as she thought back to before. "There was a human once, named Salaman, who came, and begged me to teach him. He was a bright young man, somewhat like yourself, and after him his apprentices brought pyromancy into a new age."

Quelana formed a small, steaming orb in her left hand. "One of those was Carmina, who made this." She held up the flash sweat for emphasis. "She defied the boundaries of known pyromancy to make not destruction, but something better."

Thomas stared at the steaming orb as it dissipated.

"That was most of it, people coming and going for centuries, none as memorable as Salaman or Carmina." Quelana looked away from Thomas for a moment, reminiscing, before returning to the present. "You are the first to ever gain my full attention, though I suppose that is in part because you fell almost right on top of me."

Thomas looked back at Quelana in shock. "I did what? How? Is that why I have this?" Thomas ran a hand lightly over the pale scar running the length of his face, shivering slightly as the sensitive skin reacted to his touch.

"I… do not know." Quelana answered truthfully. "You simply fell in the water near to myself, and in panic, I brought you here. You had no weapons, were seriously injured, and I did not even know your age."

Thomas frowned at that. "I guess I don't either." He said slowly, the gears in his head spinning. "Its never occurred to me." He sat and placed his chin in his hands as he thought.

"I suppose it doesn't matter much because of this?" He asked, holding up his left hand at an angle to show off the darksign adorning the back. Quelana nodded in response.

"However-" Quelana began a moment later. "-I would not be surprised if you were at least… twenty or so years, give or take. Just old enough to be into manhood, and young enough to be yourself."

"Hey." Thomas said at the last part. "I'll have you know I am the best myself there is!"

"Exactly." Quelana answered with a slight laugh. Thomas, surprising Quelana with his suddenness, stood and made for the ledge nearby.

"Come over here." Thomas said as he neared the wall, his hands forming an orb of flame that hovered at waist height. Quelana followed slowly, confused. "I've been working on something for a little while, whenever I get bored." Quelana gasped as she stepped into the circle of light he'd formed, not from the brightness of it, but from the ladder jutting from the archtree that she had failed to see before.

"I thought you always slept?" Quelana asked slowly as Thomas urged her to climb.

"I did, sometimes." He answered. "Like two days ago, you accidentally made that big combustion. While you were sleeping I came up here to work."

Work he had. Quelana accidentally let slip a second small gasp as her hand found the top rung of the ladder, not because it ended, but because of where it ended. Stretching out into the darkness of the hollow was a large platform composed of interwoven branches that extended outward from the wall at a ninety degree angle. Above, nearly two stories up was a roof, held aloft both by itself, and a series of branches stretching between it and the floor, forming a handful of columns that encircled the platform. The most intriguing part, however, was the edge. Jutting out slightly more than the roof, Thomas had formed a railing along the platform, displaying the darkness below.

"Now if I just…" Thomas extended his hands down over the railing, forming first a spark, which was soon followed by tongues of flame as he called on a large portion of his magic.

"I found out-" Thomas grunted as a tongue of flame lashed out of the orb he held, his hand tucking it back inside. "-that if you kind of… twist the magic, it does… this!"

Thomas let the orb drop, the ball of fire hissing and spitting as it hung in the air, rotating slightly in place. "You might want to close your eyes if it gets too bright." Thomas warned as the orb began to quiver. Quelana looked confused for a second before the flame made a hard 'pop' and exploded, blinding both of them as it burned with the light of a small sun below, illuminating their platform, and below that branches that stretched far below, where they were swallowed up by darkness.

Quelana stared, wide eyes, at the view, her breath caught in her throat.

"How…?" Thomas held up a hand, his small candlelight pyromancy at the tips of his fingers.

"It was when you accidentally used that large combustion a while ago. Even though I was all the way across the platform, I could feel the heat from it on my skin whenever the light hit me." The flame in his hand flickered, and began to brighten, illuminating the entire platform they stood on.

"So I wondered if light might have something to do with heat, and it kind of just… happened one day when I was up here. I was using this, and it just clicked." Thomas carefully pried a small orange square from one of his pockets, the edges crinkled and worn.

"I tried to put it on this." Quelana accepted the scrap when he held it out, and stared at the bright tongue of flame adorning its face as she thought.

"I wonder…" Quelana muttered to herself as she summoned the flame, the light dimmer than Thomas's. For a few seconds she let the light go out, her hands occupied with searching her robes, before she found what she was looking for, a tiny green shard of metal tucked into the depths of her pockets. With the small metallic chip in hand she turned to Thomas.

"Can you encase this in wood, and have it attached to… about a two foot long dowel should suffice." Thomas carefully took the stuns, studied it, and nodded. With one hand he made a pulling motion upward, a single branch sprouting from the floor under him. With his fingers he manipulated a handful of branches around the pebble, leaving small gaps to see it as he wove them together at the top.

"Here." Quelana took the stick with a nod, and ran a fingernail over the bark, thinking. After a minute she settled on six small runes, which she burnt into the bark slowly, forming small curls of smoke that hovered about before dissipating. Her last touch to add was a tongue of bright flame that she added to the top, holding it against the wood for a moment before letting it go out.

"What is it?" Thomas asked slowly as Quelana held her handiwork up to his light.

"Something that hasn't existed for hundreds of years, not since my mother began regulating fire sorcery." She ran a finger over the runes burnt into the bark once, and with a slight crackle a bright light appeared at the end of the stick, just like a candle, but larger.

"A… torch?" Thomas stared at the stick in confusion.

"One that can burn for hours before needing more magic, and that will help down here especially." Quelana set the torch into a small nook in the floor and stepped back for emphasis, gesturing to the now bright room they stood in.

"That's… actually really neat. How did you make the fire stay there? And what are those little pokey letters you used?" Quelana coughed at the mention of the runes.

"Those 'pokey letters' are called runes, and traditionally they're used for manipulating magic into sorceries. These are a variety most don't even know exist, as only my sisters and mother knew how to use them. They manipulate sorceries and pyromancies, and are more powerful than both because of that. My mother and the curse have all but erased their existence now, I would be truly surprised if there were more than a half dozen records left in the entire world." Thomas began twisting and folding branches as Quelana explained, and when she was done he had formed a pair of chairs out of the tree.

"Can you teach me?" Thomas asked curiously. Quelana's response was an instant 'no.'

"If fire sorceries ever come to light again, I refuse to be accountable for them. We caused enough destruction with them, and though pyromancy might have caused the chaos, even that is better than the destruction we caused to the archtrees." Quelana sat in her chair with a huff when she was done, leaving Thomas to twiddle the torch around in his hands.

"Wait." Thomas began a minute later. His voice was slow as he turned to face Quelana. "What's The Chaos?"

Quelana wilted in her seat, looking everywhere but at Thomas and the torch as she spoke. "It- we, me, my sisters, there being six of us, and our mother didn't want the First Flame to go out."

"Hold on." Thomas interrupted. "The First Flame?"

"The very reason this all exists, it is the source of life itself, and holds reality itself together." Thomas nodded and she continued form before. "We did not wish to see it go, but it was fading, so mother devised a plan to create another." She shuddered as she remembered mothers days of obsessiveness with working on her project.

"She poured more magic than either of us could generate in years into her own lordly soul, hoping its life giving properties and the sheer energy there might form a new, greatly powerful flame." A frown marred her features as Quelana thought back to what had happened.

"Her advisor wanted to help. He thought that we could feed the flame humanity to fuel it further, get rid of a problem and generate energy at the same time." Quelana's hands shook so much she had to fold them on her lap.

"He… did something. Quelaag kept warning us about him, but mother continued trusting him, and that was her downfall. He did something to it, first it started absorbing humanity at a greater rate. Mother thought it normal, so she left it be, until one day, it began pulling the humanity of Izalith's citizens." Quelana lowered her head into her hands.

"The screams were horrifying, all of their being torn out through their skin at once… I ran. Quella trailed behind I and Quelasa, but he fell behind when he dropped something… and Quelasa collapsed not long after, unable to resist the chaos. I-" Quelana heaved a slow sob. "I was the only sane one left."

With that, the floodgates opened. Thomas stared in shock as Quelana collapsed in on herself, her head lowered into her hands as she wept. In a split second decision Thomas pulled his chair through the floor to her, his arms moving of their own accord to wrap around her shoulders.

And so the two sat as such, until the torch dimmed and eventually blinked out. Until Quelana had run her tear ducts dry, and simply sat, mourning the loss of her sisters.

 ** _Sorry I'm late, school and home life can be a bitch. I was thinking about maybe writing something for My Hero Academia if I can split my attention, but we all remember M. Lleylathu. For now, that'll stay to the sidelines until say... Anor Londo._**

 ** _Anyway, see you all next week. Please review if you've the time or the criticisms, I don't mind._**


	16. Chapter XVI

A few days later, Thomas returned to the touchy subject of Quelana's sisters while the two waited patiently for their magic to regenerate.

"So they all went… insane?" He asked curiously as the two leaned back against a wall, Quelana absentmindedly twirling the torch around. Her hands froze when he spoke, before lowering the torch to the ground slowly.

"Well…" Quelana trailed off slowly, staring into the darkness. "Mostly they did." Her voice was small, and her hands subconsciously wrapped around her sternum as she continued.

"Quelasa I think died, for when I searched for her after she fell I found nothing more than pure chaos flowing through the area. Quelara and Quelaya stayed behind with the twins to try and help stop it, and if any of them are alive they cannot have an intact sanity, period." He hands shook as she pointed up, toward the swamp. "Quelaag and Quelaav came out after I… but they weren't unaffected. They must've been too close to the spider pens… or by chance they encountered rogue ones, for the last time I saw either, they were fused at the hip to monstrous spiders, and had an aura of chaos and flame around them. That was centuries ago, before Blighttown fell to undeath."

Thomas shivered as Quelana described her sister's affliction. The only time he had seen insects he'd been assaulted brutally by them, and had barely come out alive. The basilisks below, though he didn't know them by that name, were also quite similar, and were thus lumped with insects in Thomas's mind.

"I tried helping them, once." Quelana began after a few minutes had passed in silence. "I found a group of Blighttown inhabitants, all very heavily laden with humanity, which chaos fed on. I though that if I offered them the humanity as a truce, they might've considered talking." Quelana petered out as she recalled that day.

"…she killed them all, without hesitation." She continued a moment later. "I don't know how, but she discovered them, and hunted them like animals, even as they begged for their lives."

Thomas shivered.

"That is why I always sat near to their mound." Quelana explained. "I though that if a powerful enough undead ever were to find me, I might send them against her, if they were willing, to put an end to her horrid line of misdeeds."

"No, you're not allowed to go look, unless you think yourself able in the swamp?" Thomas closed his mouth, his question shot down before he even asked it. "Knowing yourself, you'd try and be friends with her." Quelana playfully nudged Thomas on the shoulder. "Believe me, I wish it were possible, but I cannot fathom either of them agreeing to anything, as much as I want them to see reason."

Thomas nodded slowly in understanding as Quelana sighed wistfully, her hands returning to the torch as she felt her magic to see how much had recovered. Deciding it to be enough, she pressed a quantity into the titanite embedded in the torch, giving it enough fuel for days, possibly.

"She sounds terrifying." Thomas agreed some minutes later. When Quelana turned to him, he elaborated. "This sister of yours, the half spider one. I just have one more question, what's a spider?"

Quelana stifled her laugh by coughing into her hand. "Its- hm, that is tough, considering you've only ever seen leeches and mosquitoes. Try to imagine a mosquito, but with eight legs, a larger abdomen – that's the rear end – and pincers on the front. They were fused with some, and they're constantly on fire, if I remember correctly."

Thomas shivered. The thoughts that passed through his head were quite terrifying, most images of people that looked distinctly like Quelana fused with mosquitoes and other horrible things.

"Sometimes, I think back to Izalith, before it fell." Quelana's voice was dealt silent as she continued. "We used to roam the city, free of all responsibility, when mother worked on the flame. Those last few months were golden ones indeed, now that I think back to them. Quelaag and the twins always stuck to mother like parasites, but I, Quelasa, Quelara, and Quelaya would cause mischief all the time. Once, we even broke into mother's chambers, and dusted the inner linings of her clothes with itching powder, but the look on her face was well worth the week of throne room cleaning we were given for it."

"Wow, that must've been tough. Was the throne room large?" Quelana nodded.

"Wide enough to hold six battalions of soldiers, in the case that we were attacked. It took us most of the day usually to clean it, and that was with four of us working together." Quelana absentmindedly raised a hand, moving it in swirling motions. "Even now I can recall the exact placement of those damnable bricks."

"Just out of curiosity… what's a throne?" Thomas asked suddenly. From what he understood the throne room was large, and to be defended, and therefore important. However, what a throne was was beyond him.

Quelana laughed lightly. "Sometimes I forget you have amnesia. A throne is usually a large, regal chair that a ruler uses to present an air of superiority or strength. Mother built hers of stone, to show the strength of Izalith's ruler, and suffered for it. All sharp angles and rough edges."

Thomas fought back the heat that came to his face at the mention of his amnesia. He knew Quelana wasn't laughing to be mean, but it still hurt to be reminded of his sheer ignorance.

"Well… maybe someday I could help!" Thomas spontaneous announced, startling Quelana. The chaos sister stared at him blankly for a second, before nodding with a small, sad smile.

"Perhaps, but to do so would require a great deal of strength, beyond even my own. Were I to attack her now, Quelaag would certainly best me." Thomas's mouth formed an 'o' at the admission.

"But you're…" Thomas said before trailing off.

"Weak? Absolutely." Thomas gaped at Quelana, who had returned to holding the torch. "I used to have enough power to burn down cities if I so willed, if I had even a fraction of that fighting Quelaag would be feasible. However, at the current point in time chaos and time alike have whittled down my power, placing me just about at your own level."

Thomas fished to words in the confused status his mind was in. "Wha- but- what?"

Quelana nodded at his surprise. "It is difficult to think of, I'm sure. Had I told that my mother would be consumed by her own soul back then, I would've laughed. What you believe isn't always true. Now, how about we return to fire whip, it is quite useful if you can manage to render the flames in a solid form."

Thomas rose to his feet, and prepared his hands, sparks flickering at his fingertips.

* * *

A thin wisp of mist passed through the hollow slowly, bringing with it the noxious scent of the waters beyond. This was nothing new to the hollows inhabitants, often winds like this would come by as they trained, something about heat rising, if Thomas remembered what Quelana had said correctly. He took the momentary lapse in otherwise absolute silence to slide down the wooden ladder leading up to his and Quelana's residence, the wood at the bottom curving downward at his will to prevent any sound.

 _I though that if a powerful enough undead ever were to find me, I might send them against her, if they were willing, to put an end to her horrid line of misdeeds._

Thomas shivered. The idea that she had been waiting, maybe even for him, shook him to his very core. Certainly he was undead, and though his pyromancy was relatively weak, he was mostly sure the muscles he boasted along his arms and torso along with the callouses on his hands were enough to confirm that he might've held a weapon before. Why else would he be in a land full of undead monstrosities?

His footsteps were silent as Thomas slid through the rubble filled room of the hollow, a bead of sweat already trickling down his back as he approached a fractionally brighter part of the tree, the outside. He remembered Quelana's warnings about the mosquitoes that lived there as he inched his way down the long root that stretched into fog in front of him, a hand ablaze. He'd left the torch back in the tree on accident, and didn't want to risk Quelana catching him. She would certainly refuse to let him explore the swamp in that scenario.

Water and mud both slid aside as his foot sank into the swamp, before touching solid ground almost two feet under. Short, coarse green reeds sprouted from the water occasionally in small clusters, each bunch causing Thomas to pause for a second or two as he caught sight of it.

A slight pop in the mud ahead of him caused Thomas to freeze in place a few paces later, his hand unconsciously forming a larger flame because of it. As he squinted into the darkness a hazy black outline appeared through the omnipresent fog, writhing on the surface of the mud. Startled by its sudden appearance, Thomas released a fireball from his left hand as the leech dove forward, the following exploding staggering him doubly as he was caught in the edge of the blast.

When the flames faded all that was left of the leech was a small charred section of mud that'd dried from the flame, and even that was already sinking into the swamp. Thomas visibly shook as he stared at the sinking dirt circle, the remaining flame in his left hand quavering as he stared. A small hiccup popped out of his mouth as he turned, before his breath stuttered to a halt when he saw what had appeared at the top of the root leading to the hollow.

The light dimmed significantly, before collapsing entirely as Thomas looked upon a wall of pure white mist that shrouded the entrance to the hollow.

"No… No!" Thomas found himself running forward before he could fully male sense of the situation. Quelana had told him of this, a secondary effect of someone else forcing their way through some sort of fabric separating this world from another, and he had been right to fear such an occurrence. From her tales Quelana had spoken of the bloodthirsty killers she'd seen in her time out in the swamp.

His tattooed hands fell on the misty wall as though it were solid rock, the white material unyielding even to his flames. A strangled cry rang out from his throat, before a splash sounded in the swamp behind him, instilling an icy fear in his chest.

Thomas's eyes went wide as he turned around, sliding into a low crouch as his eyes fell on a red outline far off in the swamp, its form slowly waving back and forth in the distance, occasionally disappearing out of sight as it moved behind objects. Thomas's breath came short and fast as he stared, frozen in terror.

Minutes edged by as the red outline crept ever nearer, Thomas's terror increasing inversely to the killer's distance from him.

"Boo."

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" Thomas's scream broke the darkness like a black firebomb, startling the red figure that'd somehow jumped up behind him from below. As the figure cringed from the shrillness of the sound Thomas bolted, his footsteps echoing loudly as he charged into the water.

Tears threatened the corners of his eyes as Thomas sprinted through the swamp, his body instinctively ducking and maneuvering around obstacles as he ran. Behind him longer, more even footsteps soon came crashing down on his ears, pushing him to run faster in the dark.

"Come on, are you seriously wimping out so fast?!" Terror grabbed a hold of him as a whistle made its way through the dark following the voice, his feet collapsing under him as Thomas ducked under a heavy horizontal swing from his attackers weapon. The blade continued for a short distance before it was withdrawn, the wielder moving back to recover from the heavy strike.

"Why are you doing this?!" Thomas cried into the darkness behind him as he scrambled forward just fast enough to avoid a descending blade. A low chuckle echoed off the walls of the swamp around him as his attacker prepared for another hit.

"For a wimp, you're not half horrible at dodging. As for why I do this? I'm bored, as hell." Even struck by fear so great he was on the verge of tears, Thomas recognized a distinct feminine hint to the deep voice. Emboldened by his luck in avoiding her strikes so far, Thomas managed to turn a forward roll through waist high mud into a jump as he just barely missed being hit by another hit.

On his feet now, and only minimally shaken, Thomas turned to face his attacker, his left hand wiping a small trickle of liquid from his eyes as he brought forth a bright flame with his right.

"Ack!" His attacker exclaimed, wincing at the sudden appearance of light. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth at the slight victory Thomas had achieved.

"That's new." Came the deep feminine voice, drawing Thomas's eyes to his attackers face. His mouth curved downward into a frown as he took in the canvas sack covering most of her head, leaving but a few limp strands of hair handing down past its brim. Then his eyes traveled downward, Thomas's next breath turning into a slight choking as he took in his attackers nearly nude body, built primarily of solid muscle covered in a decent quantity of mud and other assorted viscera.

"Never seen a flame that bright, I think I'll call you shiny." The attacker paused for a few seconds, their enormous slab of a weapon lowering as they brought a hand to their chin. "Call me Mildred Shiny, now COME AT ME!"

Thomas broke from his stupor as Mildred dove at him, her cleaver drawing a crimson line from his shoulder to his left hand as Thomas threw himself under the attack. Small rivulets of water fell from his eyes as Thomas slammed into the swamp face first, his right hand gripping his left arm as he sank to his knees in the mud.

"Ah! Please, stop! Why- " Thomas was cut off as Mildred came at him again, her cleaver held high for a finishing move. Just in the nick of time Thomas threw himself out of the way, pain flaring in his arm as he landed atop the cut Mildred had made.

"Aaagh!" Thomas's strangled cry drowned out the sound of Mildred's footsteps as she turned sharply, sliding a short way as she came to a stop. A small grin came to her face as a small spark jumped from the end of Thomas's left hand, and when she came at him again, he moved swiftly to the side, his yells muffled behind grit teeth.

"Why?!" This time it wasn't a question, it was a command that forced its way out of his mouth as Thomas turned to face her. Mildred settled into a low stance as his right hand was engulfed in fire, his left handing limply at his side. Tears had been exchanged for anger as Thomas fueled his pyromancy, his next limping step turning into a perfect duck under her blade as Mildred shot forward, intend on lopping his head off.

"Its frigging boring down here, that's why!" Mildred said sharply as she turned in the mud, already preparing for another attack. Her swing was intercepted mid-attack as Thomas shot to the side, his flames engulfing her arm as she brought it down upon him. As she turned to turned to face him again another gout of flame fell onto her bare skin, turning it bright pink and then red as it washed over her.

"And you attacked me! Why didn't you just leave?!" Thomas grunted as Mildred brought her shield up in front of her, blocking a small spattering of flames as she bashed him across the jaw, drawing a small line of blood. "I don't even know how to fight!" Thomas continued as he rolled to the side.

Mildred frowned as she continued assaulting the young undead. Certainly he knew how to fight, why else would he be in Blighttown, of all places?

"Ha! Good ruse kid, but it won't work!" Mildred grimaced as another bit of flame scorched her skin, this time drawing blood as the skin split painfully. Her smile at finally finding a good fight began to waver as she scored another cut on the undead's arm, causing new tears to fall down his face. She could tell he was tiring, as his flames continued to decrease in strength and brightness.

"Its not a ruse!" Mildred's cleaver came to a screeching halt as the pyromancer finally lowered his arm, the flames along its length flickering before dying. "I don't remember anything from before! All I remember is waking up in the hollow and learning pyromancy from Miss Quelana, and now she's going to be mad at me for leaving!"

Mildred hesitated as the young undead stepped forward, the anger from before dying as he lowered his head. "Go on, I'll just reappear at the bonfire and have to deal with her anyway, everything out here will kill me before I get back now." Mildred's smile completely disappeared as she finally looked up from the undead, her eyes taking in their surroundings. They were easily a third of the swamp away from where shed found him before, with the massive spider nest barely visible to their left. Mildred was genuinely surprised he'd managed to draw her so far back across the swamp, her last fight has barely gotten ten feet before loosing his head to an early roll.

"I…"

"Get on with it already!" The undead's anger flared as he looked up. "I'm dead anyway, so just do it!"

"No." Thomas's head came up quickly enough to give him whiplash as he stared at Mildred, startled.

"But then… oh." Thomas sank to the ground as he spotted a pair of mosquito's approaching, a multi legged black outline behind them.

"No, you've fought a hell of a lot better than most I've faced in a long while. I suppose I could help you through the swamp…" Thomas's head rose, hope and confusion in his eyes as they locked onto Mildred's. "…for a price."

"What?" Mildred took a crystal from a small fold of the cloth around her waist as she continued.

"I'll name it when I'm back, stay right here." Thomas opened his mouth to ask another question, but was too slow. As soon as Mildred's fingers tightened around the crystal she began to fade, her eyes still locked onto Thomas's as she did so. He gave a small, defeated sigh as she went, his good arm curling around his knees as he placed his head between than.

"Zzzzzz…" Thomas jumped in surprise as a loud noise broke the silence, and his first thought was to jump back, causing him to slam into a wall of solid rock behind him. As he looked around for the mosquito that must've made the noise his attention was drawn to the floor as a glowing white ring appeared, shedding light in a small circle around it. Thomas's breath caught in his throat as Mildred rose from the ground, except different from before. This time her eyes were framed by blonde hair in a bun, and her body was covered in skin tight leather armor, her weapon was the same massive cleaver as before.

As Thomas stared in shock Mildred spun in a circle, her cleaver sending dark blood flying as she swept back the creatures that'd once been a death sentence for Thomas.

"So." Mildred began when all of the enemies had fallen. "Where to short stuff?"


	17. Chapter XVII

_**Sorry about the lack of updates. I've written this chapter like, six times, and its been a bitch to get done. Hopefully, I'll be able to finish up this arc and move on soon. I also rewrote everything up to chapter four, and will finish five soon. After that, ONWARD.**_

"So let me get this straight: you've been living with a chaos witch for a few weeks, and can barely manage against a few bugs, and you want to go and try taming literally the most powerful demon around, just because you think she might be nice?" Thomas sheepishly turned from his new companion, heat rising to his face. He probably should've thought this through back when they weren't halfway through the swamp.

"I- yes, kind of. I didn't really want to yet, but now that you're with me... Maybe? Quelana said she was still half normal, so maybe I can talk to her? I didn't really think up a plan while I was avoiding becoming little Thomas bits." Mildred snorted out a laugh while languidly cleaving through an approaching pair of mosquitoes.

"How's about this:" The taller undead began. "You said chaos feeds on humanity, yeah?" Thomas nodded slowly, confused. Mildred began digging through her pockets as she continued. "Well then, we use that to calm her down, like a wild animal, yeah? If she talks, that's good, if not, we beat the snot out of her and move on." Finally, she found what she was looking for, and held aloft a twin humanity.

"That... Makes a lot of sense, actually." Thomas nodded to himself as they neared the spiders mound, the cavern wall pressing closer to their right. "Ugh, this is disgusting." He noted after placing a single foot atop a white covered stone.

"It gets better up ahead." Mildred responded, a hand lazily waving in the general direction of the top of the mound.

"Dou you mean better, as in actually better, or...?" Thomas asked worriedly as he pulled himself up with the help of an enormous root that arced above the mound.

"Oh no, I was joking. You might not like it up here if you're squeamish, dislike egg sacs the size of a horse, mutant crazies, and much, much more past all that." Mildred paused for a bit, before adding, "oh, and the heat. If you can't stand temperatures ranging from fire to fire on fire then you might want to turn back now." Thomas paused, glancing warily at the top of the mound, before recognizing the humor in Mildred's voice.

"Can fire actually be on fire, though?" He asked curiously as they ascended. Mildred shrugged.

"If it can be, sucks for whoever's nearby. Approaching the lair." Thomas looked past Mildred to see a black circle farther up the mound, ominous in the dim lighting of the swamp.

"Mmm, smell that?" Mildred paused at the lip of the tunnel to inhale deeply. Thomas followed suit, taking a deep breath of the hot, dry air that blew from within.

"It smells hot." Thomas answered, his eyes roaming the unusually shaped rocks positioned around the tunnel. He stumbled forward with a yelp as Mildred smacked the back of his head, before walking past him into the darkness.

"Can't smell heat dummy. I just wanted to mess with you, honestly." Thomas stared into the blackness for a few drawn out seconds, before stepping into the tunnel carefully.

Unusually enough, the tunnel wasn't actually that dark, it just seemed so from outside. Surrounded by the unusual, bulbous white rocks that seemed to make up the walls of the tunnel, Thomas jogged forward carefully to catch up with Mildred, who was turning the corner ahead. "Hey, wait for..."

Silence fell onto the pair as Thomas rounded the bend, not one, but three humans in the next section of the tunnel. Crusted over with some sort of shiny yellow material, and weighed down by large, bulbous white growths, the hollows alongside the worn dirt path they walked on horrified Thomas more, perhaps, than the leeches had.

Suddenly, Thomas broke away from the two, his eyes attracted to the walls, which suddenly weren't as solid as they seemed. Upon closer inspection, Thomas's eyes widened significantly as he noticed small tremors running through the eggs lining the entire cave, and with short, fast bursts of breath he backpedaled from the walls, straight into Mildred.

The undead raised a brow questioningly as Thomas his behind her, shaking. "Don't like eggs, I take it?" Thomas shook his head in response.

"They're... Everywhere! What made them?" He hastened to keep up with Mildred as she continued towards the fog gate farther into the cave. Thankfully, none of the hollows seemed to be interested in the two undead passing through.

"Well, you know about Quelaag, yeah? Well, sometimes she comes out of her cave to stick these to the walls, the ceilings, and sometimes people. Not a pretty sight, the last one." Thomas shivered at the thought of an enormous spider crawling over the walls, carrying eggs that it would cover its lair with.

"So you think she's redeemable?" Mildred asked as they turned left, approaching the boss fog. "I mean, think of the amount of undead she's killed, us potentially being another few."

Thomas shook his head. "Quelana told me." He said quietly. "But I want to see for myself, just in case. Maybe she killed them for a reason?" Mildred snorted, before stopping at the boss fog.

"Well, I guess we'll see soon. Lead the way, shrimp." Thomas swallowed dryly, his hands sparking slightly as he approached the fog. A single bead of sweat rolled down his hand as he brought it up to the fog, where the heat was the most intense It seemed the barrier held back some of the heat, oddly enough. After glancing back at mildred, who waved him forward, he closed his eyes and stepped forward.

"Give it a minute." Mildred murmured quietly, startling Thomas as she stepped into the cavern beside him. The place looked like it had once maybe been a building, complete with a crumbling staircase attacked to a tower across from them, but now it lay in a state of intense disrepair. Tiles were scattered about, broken and filthy, and the tower itself looked like it would fall over at any second.

"She likes to enter dramatically." Mildred explained as the sound of immense footsteps echoed through the room. In her left hand Mildred held the twin humanity at the ready, waiting for Quelaag to come.

Come she did, first showing a pair of legs that stretched over the tower. Thomas slid back a step as an enormous red head pulled itself over the crumbling bricks, pincers clacking wildly as its beady eyes locked onto the two. His eyes moved upward, taking in the sheer size of the spider, before he suddenly noticed skin poking through the flames.

Pale, on fire, and absolutely naked, Quelaag exuded an aura of absolute power as she raised a curved, jagged sword into the air, crimson flames dancing up her arm before clinging to its edge, where they roared into an inferno that could be felt across the room.

"QUELAAG!" Mildred yelled, stepping forward to meet the Demoness's charge. The spider didn't falter as she held up her left arm, in her pal a pair of flickering, black sprites that curved ever so slightly toward the flames rolling off Quelaag's back.

"SHRIMPY HERE HAS A MESSAGE FROM YOUR SISTER!" Thomas winced at the loudness of the yell as Mildred broke into a run, matching Quelaag's speed as they approached the center of the cavern.

 **"How cute."** Quelaag drawled as Mildred stopped in the center of the chamber, mere feet from the Demoness.

"Londish please." Mildred sneered. Offended at the tone the human held, Quelaag brought her sword back for a quick, simple cut, to end the phantom. She was shocked to find her blade jarringly intercepted by another, a massive slab of metal held casually in the hands of the undead before her.

"We gonna do this the hard way?" Mildred asked, her hand still extended with the humanity in it. Quelaag reeled, startled at the strength of the undead. Her hands clenched and unclenched in quick succession as she tried to make sense of the feelings stirred within her. Something new touched her then, something she hadn't felt in hundreds of years, not since Izalith. _Fear._

"C'mon kid, she's not exploding, for now." Thomas shrank as Quelaag followed Mildred's arm, her eyes locking onto his as he stepped forward. In a wide arc Thomas made his way toward Mildred, before coming to a stop behind her.

Quelaag, suddenly pressured by the presence of two undead, hastily snatched up the humanity Mildred held with one of her legs, the limb tucking them somewhere behind her. Mildred grimaced in pain as a bright red burn formed on her palm, composed of tiny lines from the hairs on Quelaag's lower half.

 **"I will not speak your tongue!"** Quelaag hissed as she watched the undead, wary. Mildred heaved an exasperated sigh.

"Told ya kid, she got a big case of-" Mildred paused to turn and glare at Quelaag, who has just made another attempt to kill her. Quelaag's arm shook as she pressed her chitin sword against Mildred's cleaver, the flames on its edge flaring higher as the undead locked eyes with her.

"She doesn't appear to speak normally. I'd call that and her... Violent tendencies a good reason too believe her to be insane, or close to it." Mildred gestured to Quelaag, who was still pressing against her cleaver in vain.

Finally, Thomas gathered his courage, and spoke. "But... She _is_ talking normally." He stared at Mildred in confusion as she finally flicked away Quelaag, who looked at the robed undead in surprise.

Mildred frowned. "What do you- ah! Dammit, this doesn't help your case!" Mildred snapped the latter half of her sentence at Quelaag, who's sword had just reconnected with Mildred's.

"Perhaps this will." Mildred faltered as a dry, feminine voice suddenly came from Quelaag. With her sword already holding back Quelaag's chaos blade, Mildred failed to notice the leg moving toward her until it was too late. Thomas jerked toward Mildred as she was sent flying, her blade clattering to the ground beside him loudly.

"Ah ah ah." Quelaag said as she placed her sword against the back of his neck. Thomas froze in place, his eyes on Mildred's form across the room. She looked to be mostly fine, if a bit banged up from where she had slammed into a wall. She also seemed to be in pain, judging by how she bent over her left leg.

"So." Quelaag began, her breath hot against Thomas's back. She bent down to his level, to where she was talking directly into his ear. "I keep asking myself, 'Who are you two?' and 'Why do you offer me humanity?' Certainly, she is strong, but you? If you shook any more, you might well shake yourself apart. Now tell me, why do you come here? Be you another of that fools supposed 'chosen undead,' here to ring the beyond bell?" Quelaag brought a clawed hand up to wave at the tower just beyond the cavern. "Or perhaps, you are simply a fool, here by mere chance."

Thomas shakily held up his hands, showing them to the witch behind him. "I woke up... I think a month ago, with no memory, and nothing to my name." Small flames flared to life atop his palms, dancing wildly in the constant breeze. "A woman found me, helped me remember my name, and taught me pyromancy." The flames danced toward each other, before forming a single, taller flame.

"She told me the story of her sisters, and the chaos that took her home. She told me she thought you were too far gone." The flame suddenly collapsed, disappearing. Thomas turned to Quelaag slowly, locking eyes with her. "I'm honestly not sure what to tell her when I get back."

Quelaag faltered. This undead, claiming to have learned pyromancy from her sister, if any had escaped besides herself and... She was unsure what to say. Killing him would be the easiest choice. Her sword would cut through him as easily as if he wasn't there, and she would be done with the both of them.

Something, however, held her back. Maybe it was the way the undead held himself, confident in the face of possible death, certain that he would return to whichever sister he claimed to know. Perhaps it was the humanity they had offered, warmly held under her by a pair of her legs. Either way, she held her blade, if only to speak with the undead further.

"...well?" Thomas looked, confused, at Quelaag.

"I have decided." Quelaag announced, her voice slightly strained sounding, likely from disuse. "She will handle another death." Quelaag turned slightly, to look at Mildred, who had pulled herself to her feet and painfully approached.

"Don't you dar-"

Mildred was silenced by the sudden appearance of a sword in her chest, the heat it emitted cracking the leather around it. "Now, motivations, namely yours." Quelaag turned back to Thomas as though she had just done something as casual as swatting a fly.

"You just..."Thomas began, still frozen in place, staring at the place Mildred had disappeared from. Quelaag's sword turned the stones underneath it bright crimson around it, until Quelaag snapped and it cooled in an instant.

"She will reappear elsewhere, as you undead all do. Likely, she has done it many times before, anyway. Now, do tell me why you chose to come here, weak as you seem, to tell me of my sister." Thomas swallowed dryly as Quelaag grabbed his shoulders and turned him around, her claws pressing slightly into his skin.

"Well, Miss Quelana talked about the chaos like... Like a wild animal. Dangerous, untameable, she thought you were insane. Which you are _probably_ not." Quelaag's pupils narrowed. "I didn't really mean to leave the hollow at all, but then she-" Thomas pointed to where Mildred had disappeared. "-invaded, and I couldn't get back in. We fought, and then she offered to help me because I managed to hurt her."

Thomas took a deep breath, before continuing. "And then I came here. I just had this... feeling, that maybe she wasn't right. I don't remember anything else from before the swamp, but maybe back then I had some reason to come here?"

Quelaag hummed to herself, thinking over the undeads words. Certiantly, it wouldn't hurt to try... Yes. That would be her answer to this dilemma. With a swift turn, she turned to Thomas, startling him.

"You want to help, then?" The question was a simple one, at least to him.

"If I can." He answered, worriedly. Certiantly, he knew little of what chaos was, but if he could help, he would.

"Good. Take now this, and do with it what you are able." As an afterthought, "...if you are able."

With a slight twist of her wrist, Quelaag wrenched somethinh from the air, something that burned orange and crimson, yet didn't give off heat, as would be expected. Tipping her hands, she released the tiny spark into Thomas's hands, the glow revealing his tattoos in high detail. Inwardly, Quelaag grinned, having gotten rid of a troublesome undead _and_ acquired free humanity.

Suddenly, a shudder went through Thomas. His eyes grew wide as the spark flared, before erupting into a fiery inferno that engulfed his left hand in a matter of seconds. His gaze flicked from the spark to Quelaag, begging for help as he suddenly lost control of his limbs, collapsing into a heap on the ground.

 **"Do have fun, becoming a demon."** A strangled cry was all she got as a response as Quelaag spun, heading for the tower at the far end of the room.

She paused, as she climbed over the lip of the tower, and turned back. Certiantly, the human had been useful. Her sister, and humanity, but he had also been expendable. Something, however, held her in place as she watched the orange fire climb up his form, spreading rapidly downward from his arm. He had stopped moving some time ago, and was being steadily consumed by flame.

Something changed. She paused, unsure if she had seen correctly. One moment. Two. Yes, there it was, a slight twitch, almost imperceptible to the eyeeye. Again, his right hand moved, the fingers curling slightly.

Suddenly, his eyes flew open. "AaaaaaAAAAAAH! THAT'S ONE SPICY MEATBALL." Shock overcame Quelaag's features as the human, still covered in in raging orange fire, sat up casually, looking around the chamber he was in as though this was a totally ordinary occurrence. Upon spotting Quelaag he rose to his feet, those, his head, and his right arm the only parts of his body not aflame.

"Yyyyou." Quelaag froze as the human turned to her, his eyes flickering shades of orange. "That is very rude, to set someone on fire like that. You could've at least bought me a drink first. Actually, scratch that, I'd probably puke it up by now."

As he talked, the human tugged a satchel from around his neck, patting off the small orange flames sticking to it. To her surprise, he reached in with his entire arm, sinking the limb down until he appeared to grasp something in its depths. When he withdrew it, he held in his hand a long sheet of parchment, and a quill.

"Do come closer, it helps conversation!" He yelled across the chamber after setting the paper atop a nearby tile. After dipping the quill in a small bottle of ink, he got to work. "So, chaos was originally a stand in for the first flame, or a replacement. Something happened, and it went out of control, the program failed, and it began to mutate. Mutation. That's the big bad with this all. It mutates what it touches, physically, and magically. Therefore..."

Thomas finished a final, hasty scrawl and held the paper aloft with a yell. Curious, Quelaag bent low to inspect the jagged, oddly placed script. Lines twisted and bent in odd ways, sometimes intersecting one or more times. Overall, it looked like something a child might make by splicing together multiple spells, and then accidentally dropping the paper into water.

"Now, the inverse, with a few changes. We are so going to have a looong talk about setting people on fire after this." Thomas said as he delved into his satchel once again. This time, the paper he withdrew was blue, along with a small, clear jar of ink. After wiping his quill, he began writing on the new paper. With each line he grew more hasty in his writing, the orange chaos flame, slowed by his willpower, still creeping toward his hand.

"Now, if you could just do me a favor and cast this on me, that'd be nice." Quelaag accepted the staff and paper thrust into her arms by reflex, her face a mask of confusion.

"Listen, I like being set on fire as much as the next guy, but this is the second time I have been in recent memory, so if you could cast that spell it would be greatly appreciated."

"I- you're... Not an idiot." Shock tainted Quelaag's words.

"Nope. That was Thomas." He gestured down at himself with a flaming hand. "This is Mike. Kind of a Navlaan situation, not impossible, improbable. Unlikely." Worry began to seep into Mike's words as the chaos crept up his next. His body began to shudder wildly as the chaos began to seep inward, approaching his very soul.

"I- fine." Quelaag snapped, flicking the staff. Crackling blue energy gathered at its tip, before launching itself at Mikes torso. The spell took effect almost instantly, first affecting the chaos currently afflicting his body. With a flick of his hand, Mike finally dislodged the small spark Quelaag had handed him, likely a part of her soul. The spark sank into the ground a ways, before disappearing.

Now free of a secondary source, the spell got to work cancelling out the currently mutating chaos. Mike had presumed the chaos to be alike to other natural magics, bound by rules and runes, and had been correct, as the first paper indicated. Unlike those magics, multiple interconnected strings of runes created instability, and from that, new lines formed when old ones fell apart. The idea of the spell was to try and cancel the current lines out, rendering then null, before taking the magic and turning it to another use.

It worked.

Ok, it worked a little. The chaos still burned in Mike's mind like a swarm of insects, buzzing incessantly, but it was manageable, and the flames had stopped. Having not fully consumed him, little had changed, save perhaps the state of his robes. Quelaag questioningly raised a brow as Mike looked down at his form, only to realize he was without clothed. The undead shrugged.

"We're even now, I guess." Mike crossed his arms then. "Now, how's about you explain to me why you tried getting rid of me after I helped you."


	18. Chapter XVIII

_**Holy shit it is hot out where I am right now. Thank the flame for AC, am I right? Hopefully, a new chapter will be out, as is scheduled, next Wednesday.**_

* * *

"I know about your sister, you know." Mike said casually, breaking the silence that'd fallen over the two. Quelaag froze for merely a microsecond, barely enough time to even notice any change.

"Yes, you already told me of Quelana. What about her?" Mike laughed quietly, his focus currently to his left, embedded in the floor.

"Not her. The other, downstairs." Quelaag bristled, the flames across her back subconsciously leaping into the air. "Don't worry." Mike waved with his right hand, still staring at the hole melted through the floor. "I've no ill will toward either of you." After a moment, he added "even though you did set me on fire. With chaos. Purposefully."

Quelaag calmed, the chaos flame on her reverting back to its normal state. "I... Had reason, to distrust you. The last to pass through here quoting 'good intentions' turned as soon as I let down my guard. We were forced to rely on outside help to defend ourselves."

"And thus, the chaos covenant was born, correct?" Quelaag nodded.

"You know quite a bit, for a human. How, I wonder, do you have such knowledge?" Mike placed a palm against the floor, closing his eyes as he focused.

"Not prescience, if that's what you think." He began. Small tendrils of fire kept from his palm as he spoke, sliding smoothly down the hole made by the spark he'd dropped. "You were educated by your mother, the Witch of Izalith, correct? I presume she wanted only the best for her dragon slaying daughters."

Quelaag nodded slowly, impressed that this human knew so much of the witch. "Yes, we were taught the Quadrivium from the greatest scholars of the time, though I suspect much of that is outdated by now."

Mike shook his head. "Yes and no. Places like Oolacile, advanced as they were, have all but disappeared from the history books. By now, I would guess you're still considered pretty well educated, even by what little of humanity, or even civilization itself is left."

"They've fallen that far then." Quelaag said quietly. "I was not surprised to watch the Blighttown fall, but everything else... Surely, Anor Londo is in its glory."

Mike snorted loudly. "If you consider like, four sane folk glory, suuure. I'm pretty certain even you could take the city like it was nothing by now, though Gwyndolin would most certiantly have a problem with that."

Quelaag looked aghast. "The undead have-"

"Not the undead." Mike broke in. "The First Flame. Started sputtering some time ago, and is juuuuust about to go out."

Quelaag fell over her next few words. "But... Gwyn, he set up the trials, and the chosen..."

"Pssssh. Garbage. Gwyn's soul only lasted for so long, and even then, he went mad because of it. Sure, the chosen undead thing is there, but that's unlikely to work out anyway. Just like a real fire, the first flame tends to sputter and weaken every few hundred to thousand years." Suddenly, Mike let out a loud 'ah-ha!'

"But what of Anor Londo?" Quelaag asked.

"They left." Mike answered, unfocused. "Time stopped, they noticed, and figured they would have a better chance running from their problems, rather than fixing them."

"That is... Troubling, to hear that our fate is in the hands of just any human that happens to pass by." Quelaag said, watching Mike with keen interest as he began to pull his hand from the ground. Along with it came tendrils of fire, the ends wrapped around the spark of chaos she'd given him.

"This'll be neat to study." Mike noted as he held the chaos spark away from himself. Already, orange was spreading up the length of his pyromancy flames, only to be cut off as he flicked the ember into the air. "I have the soul of one of Seath's butterflies already." He continued, as he dug through he's satchel. After finding what he was looking for, he tugged a dinner plate sized slab of metal from the small container, stretching its mouth. With that in hand, he caught the spark, and set the demon titanite aside.

"Certainly, acquiring it was educational, to say the least. This one though, is an _actual_ bit of soul, not just the remaining energy. Many more possibilities here." Quelaag intently watched as Mike then took out a stack of papers and writing materials.

"Hold a moment!" Quelaag suddenly burst out. "You've not yet explained how you know so much, and I would very much like to know how you came across such knowledge." Mike frowned as the witch bent over him and snatched up the chaos spark, though not before glancing up at her exposed torso unashamedly.

"Fine." He sighed. "I suppose you, and maybe about four others would understand this anyway, so here you go. I'm not actually from here, nor anywhere else on... whatever the continent Lordran is on is called. I'm actually from another world, similar to how others can be called from similar worlds with soapstones, except my world wasn't similar to this."

A dubious expression came over Quelaag's face as he continued. "There, we didn't have magic, nor any particular evidence for souls, or much of anything non-physical. Instead, we had science and math more advanced than anything you could imagine."

"Admittedly, I've heard of other worlds before." Quelaag interrupted. "And more... recently, I've also heard of transient beings, whom pass through worlds by chance, but to come from one entirely different from this one? 'Tis like saying you crawled from the depths of Izalith uncorrupted. Have you any proof of your past world?"

Mike thought for a second, thrown off by Quelaag's relatively reasonable question. "I uh... Tough. With materials and time, I guess I could make advanced technologies the likes of which you literally couldn't fathom, but unless advanced mathematics counts, then I suppose I have no real proof of being from another world. Huh." Quelaag grinned, pleased at having thrown off the human.

"Anyway, where I'm from, Lordran, more specifically the story of the Chosen Undead, is all fiction. A story created with the intention of the... reader being able to place them self in the chosen's shoes. That's how I know so much, not prescience, more like... preknowledge. For example, I could list most of the fire-based attacks you use, and also know the fact that you are entirely, or at least very resistant to heat." Quelaag nodded along as he talked, and found his story surprisingly believable. Certainly, it was a subject Quel would've enjoyed spending a great deal of time talking about.

"What now?" Quelaag asked, curious. Mike paused, the tip of his quill halting abruptly. "You've knowledge of the chosen's path, and, accidental or not, have changed that path."

"That's... actually quite deep." Mike admitted, setting down his quill. "I suppose now I'll be going to Sens Fortress, and then Anor Londo after that. Not that much to change there, except for the painted world and probably making Gwyndolin angry." Quelaag chuckled at the image that brought to mind.

"Seath might be difficult, but I hope he's not too insane to give up his research. Nito will be... interesting, because I'm not that sure if joining his covenant will let me talk to him. Four Kings shouldn't be too hard, especially now that I don't need to worry about Kaathe, and-"

"KAATHE?!" Quelaag exploded, the flames on her back churning into an inferno. With one hand she lifted her sword from where shed stabbed it into the ground, the blade coming alive with chaos fire as she looked around warily.

"WHERE IS HE?!" She roared, suddenly bending low to Mikes face. To his credit, he merely shrugged and leaned back, still writing.

"Usually, if a chosen undead chooses to bring the lordvessel to New Londo immediately after obtaining it, Kaathe will show up after they defeat the Four Kings, and offer them a position in his covenant, and the choice to side with darkness when they get to the first flame. It's curious, your reaction. Perhaps he had something to do with Izalith?"

Quelaag's flames stuttered, before dying out entirely a moment later. "You intend to claim my mothers soul, correct?" She asked Mike. He nodded once, his focus not his paper, for once.

"Then... I will tell you then, before you enter Izalith. You need not know until then." Mike stared at Quelaag intently, and for a second she thought he would press for further information, before shrugging shrugging and returning to his work.

"Annnnnnnnd this should _theoretically_ do... something. I'm still burnt out from the whole 'caught on chaos fire' thing, mind casting for me?" Mike held up a new sheet of blue paper, this spell spanning multiple feet of parchment in an even more complex jumble of runes than previously. Quelaag took the large scroll delicately in her clawed hands, inspecting the runes as Mike used pyromancy to pluck the chaos spark from her grasp.

After scrutinizing the runes with scrunched brows Quelaag gave up on trying too understand them, instead calling on the magic deep win her to cast the spell. The paper drew heavily on the energy, nearly draining her as she focused it into the flimsy staff Mike passed her. Finally, she let the spell go, the blue energy latching onto the nearby chaos immediately.

"Hmm. It does not seem to do anything." Quelaag said after a few minutes had passed. Every so often Mike would sever his pyromancy from the spark, before catching it before it melted a hole into the ground.

"Well duh. Give a lengthy, complicated command to a person, and they'll take their time completing it. Refine that, with the same message, and they'll be much faster. Just let the spell do its thing." While they waited, Mike began digging through his satchel, before eventually drawing out a pair of chain pants and a belt from within. With a pointed look he tugged them on, the movement scattering the few strips of burnt cloths that'd remained on his right shoulder.

Minutes soon stretched into nearly an hour of silence as the two waited, interrupted only by the occasional spark or three erupting from the tiny soul fragment. The two made a game out of watching the spark, waiting for the spell to finish... whatever it would do to the soul. Mike eventually grew tired of staring at the tiny lightbulb, and so he turned his gaze to Quelaag, who sneered, but otherwise ignored him.

"...almost there." Mike commented, two and a half hours later. He had settled into a cross legged position, and alternated between the sparks progress and Quelaag's chest, much to the Demoness's disliking. She had half a mind to web over his eyes for that, but refrained, for the moment anyway.

"True. At the rate the magic is being consumed I would say... perhaps another thirty minutes, at most. At that point, I will either stab you and reclaim my soul, and in the case you do that which no one else could, applaud you for your genius, and then stab you for lechery." For emphasis, Quelaag stabbed her sword into the stone directly in front of her, the blade angled in Mike's direction.

"Hmpf. That's certainly not how _I_ would thank the person responsible for stopping the chaos." Mike snorted, unperturbed by Quelaag's abrasive personality.

"Hmpf." Quelaag crossed her arms and turned away, her back flaring brightly. Unfortunately, in those few seconds that she moved her attention away from the soul shard the spell finally took hold, flashing brightly as the last of its magic was used up. Mike flinched away as the light grew unbearable, the smell of burning hair filling the immediate vicinity.

"Wha-"

"MINE!" Before Quelaag could fully interpret the situation Mike dove forward, scrambling for the suddenly yellow spark suspended from his pyromancy flame. Quelaag lashed out instinctively, her sword arcing through the air before she could make full sense of the situation. Mike reeled as a red line opened up across his left cheek, burning shut seconds later as fire trailed after the chitinous blade. He scrambled back as Quelaag lowered her weapon in shock, his hands cupped around the tiny soul.

"You... Did it." Quelaag said quietly, staring at the uncorrupted portion of her soul. Less than a hundredth of its entirety sat in his palm, cheerfully humming with clean energy, yet she felt herself drawn to its suddenly purity. Mike stared at the spark with a knowing smile, before looking up to Quelaag with a raised brow.

"Well, you nearly got me, anyway. I should think this a sufficient proof of concept, for now. I couldn't say how long it'd take to cleanse the rest of Izalith, years, possibly centuries, if this is a good representation of the time needed." Quelaag nodded slowly as she watched Mike pore over the soul in his hands.

"...wonder if I can just..." Suddenly, there was the faintest tugging sensation in the air, as though the soul was pulling everything around it inward, before the yellow spark disappeared with a slight 'pop!' A startled gasp came from Mike, before sweat began to break out over his brow rapidly. He sat in silence for a few minutes, before wiping his brow and heaving a large sigh.

"Jesus, whatever you chaos witches are made of, its like injecting chilli peppers into my soul." Mike said with a grimace.

"I wouldn't be surprised." Quelaag scoffed. "We demigods are different enough from you humans already. Likely the only reason you could even accept my soul into yours is because of those stabilizing runes etched into your hands. I would, however, be mindful of what other souls you try to assimilate with in the future, one can never know exactly when their essence could be shattered into little pieces on accident."

"I'll keep that in mind." Mike conceded dryly. "I wonder... Does this mean I'll gain access to your memories? Let's see..." Quelaag paled as Mike closed his eyes, scrunching his brow together in concentration.

"That is unlikely, you've only stolen a small fraction of my-"

"Pfft." Mike laughed and waved at Quelaag. "Calm down, its not like I got anything important." Quelaag visibly relaxed, her skin returning to its normal palette

"That you know of."

"AAGH, YOU INSUFFERABLE HUMAN." Mike leaned back as a clawed hand swiped at his head, missing by a fraction of an inch.

"Well." Mike said with a deep breath. "I suppose I'd best get on with the undead prophecy." Quelaag fell into step beside him as he headed toward the fog wall across the chamber. A small part of her wondered what memories the human might've gotten from her soul, if any. With a touch of her hand the fog dissipated in front of them, allowing the undead passage.

Just like the one above, the bell rang loudly enough to leave ringing in his ears for a few seconds. As he was turning toward the doorway to leave, his foot bumped something, sending a white object clattering away.

"Homeward bone. Huh. Well, see you later." He offered Quelaag a small wave as he picked up the bone, squeezing it with his hand. A crack filled the chamber, echoing below, and when the ash cleared, Mike was gone.


	19. Chapter XIX

_**I know its a couple days late, sorry. Been ridiculously hot recently, and I was also sick for a bit. I'm better now though, and next chapter is mostly done, so that'll be on time next week. As I told my discord, last chapter also foreshadowed some future plot, kudos to whoever calls it first. Anyway, CHAPTER!**_

In a flurry of ash, Mike found himself staring at the inner walls of the Great Hollow. As he was rubbing grit from his eyes, a burst of flame illuminated the darkness, the large orb that'd appeared pausing mere centimeters from his face.

"Who are-" Quelana froze, her face mirroring that of a deer at night. "…Thomas?"

With slow movements Mike brought his hands up, his own pyromancy pushing Quelana's away from his face slowly. The flames dimmed as they lowered, before going out entirely, casting the area into darkness.

With a flick of his fingers Mike lifted a section of the floor, a tangle of branches rising to grasp the torch Quelana shakily held aloft. As it rose the flame reignited, illuminating the entirety of the tree with a fist sized orb of yellow fire.

"Thomas, you… I…" Quelana took a single, shaky step forward, before collapsing into Mike's prepared arms. With a slight grimace he held the unstable woman upright, her sobs echoing loudly throughout the tree.

There they stood for a time, Quelana mumbling incoherently every so often. Only as himself did Mike begin to notice the shortcomings of her robe, tattered from years of living in the open swamp. It didn't take much to notice the gaping holes and tears in the garment, obvious now that he had a more mature mindset.

"Quelana?" Mike asked, when the pyromancer had calmed down.

"Yes?" Curious, she lifted bloodshot eyes to regard her returned student.

"Can you uh… not hug me so tightly? It's a little… awkward." Quelana looked at her robe in confusion before a large blush rose to her cheeks, causing her to step back hastily and mumble something about 'wishing she had another set.'

"Where were you?" She asked a few minutes later, breaking the silence.

"Well, that's… difficult. To start, I'm not the Thomas you knew." Quelana's face betrayed great confusion as she accepted a seat that'd risen from the floor. Across the bonfire from her, Mike created his own, relaxing.

"Before I fell down here, I was named Mike, and I was a supposed 'chosen undead' from the northern asylum." Quelana nodded along with his story, not moving in the slightest from her seat on the edge of her chair.

"It's not entirely clear to me, but I do recall being sent flying into the swamp by an ogre far above, and judging by the small split already present, I also encountered some small amount of chaos on the way, which caused me great pain when remembering things." Quelana's hand went to her mouth, her eyes wide.

"The rest of what I've done as Thomas is somewhat hazy, but I recall leaving the tree some time ago, and being invaded by a woman named Mildred."

"…Maneater Mildred…" Quelana uttered softly. Mike nodded once.

"We fought. He(Thomas) won. Already halfway there, we decided to go confront Quelaag, exactly like you told me not to."

"Quelaag… so you…?"

Mike snorted out a laugh. "No, we didn't kill her." He reassured. "Actually, she killed Mildred, and then talked to Thomas for a bit. Can you take a guess as to what she did?"

Quelana didn't answer. Her face was frozen in shock, unable to process the idea that Quelaag had conversed with Thomas.

"She lit me on fire. With chaos." Quelana flinched back at the mention of chaos, her eyes exploring Thomas's bare form for signs of mutation.

"But you're… how?" Quelana asked quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper. It seemed the whole situation had rattled her quite thoroughly.

Before answering Mike reached into the bottomless box at his hip and pulled out a familiar handful of papers, separated by their plain and light blue colors. Following those, he twisted his hand sharply, sending a tall lance of archtree wood ripping up from the floor, to land lightly in Quelana's lap. Upon closer inspection, the branch had all of the required runes for being a staff, spiraling up the length of the wood in a thin scrawl.

"The blue piece is a spell, but I don't ink it'll really be that useful… at all. As for the rest, those papers are a compilation of the notes I took on the chaos for the short while it was corrupting my being, until I canceled it out with said spell." Quelana began scanning the notes immediately, suddenly aware of what the confusing mass of parchment could do in the right hands. Maybe her hands.

Her next few words came out in harsh, low whispers, as though she was barely holding herself back from raising her voice. "You… stopped, the chaos?" More of a statement than a question, Mike nodded.

"But this is… quite detailed, how did you acquire such a thorough visualization of the chaos afflicting you if you were subject to it for…" She paused to think. "Less than ten hours?"

Mike shrugged. "Dunno. Visualizing magic just seems to come naturally."

Quelana continued poring over the notes after that, muttering to herself occasionally. Eventually coming to a conclusion, she looked back up at Mike.

"When did you come into your magic?" She asked seriously, a scholarly air surrounding her.

"Like… a month and a half ago? Didn't even know it existed before then." Quelana nodded and thought for a few more moments.

"…that explains it, then. I don't ow where you're from, but I would warrant a guess that wherever you lived, there were few magic users, or enchanted objects there." Mike nodded slowly, unsure of where Quelana was going.

"Normally, a child is introduced to magic, or pyromancy, at a young age, even non users at some point encountering some form of it on a semi-regular basis. Because of this, their senses are dulled to it somewhat, making visualization like this high impossible for most. The fact that it also requires an extensive knowledge of runes also makes it more difficult." Mike nodded slowly, understanding dawning on his face.

"You must've had so little magical interference in your life that it seems to almost throw itself at you when you encounter magic. That is how you managed this so quickly." Mike continued to nod.

"Where I came from, magic wasn't non-existent, but it was incredibly scarce, if at all present. I guess it does explain the Moonlight Butterfly." Finally, Quelana folded up the notes once more, returning her attention to Mike.

"So Quelaag is…?"

"Yep. And Quelaav, I think that's her name. Pale, white hair?" Quelana brought a hand to her mouth, eyes wide. After a moment of thought she nodded.

"Quelaag isn't crazy though, despite the chaos. I think she's just trying to protect Quelaav. See, Quelaav apparently drew the Blightpus from Blighttown some time ago, and is now a fire keeper to stay alive because it made her sick."

A small gaps escaped Quelana's mouth. "No! Quelaav… I thought it was odd that the pus began to ebb, but I thought Yulva had…"

Mike broke in. "Oh, Yulva is up in the town still. Don't now how she went, but she did develop a spell that cures most ailments, which I will be sure to study once I go get it. Everyone else went crazy."

Quelana blinked and fell silent. "How do you know all this?" She asked softly.

"Pre-knowledge. I have a fairly accurate knowledge about the path the chosen undead follows, some things on that path, and the history of those things. Like I know that you have a pyromancy called 'Undead Rapport,' and Quelaav is the leader of the chaos covenant, so that she can use humanity to feel better." A choked cough erupted from Quelana, causing her to double. She wheezed for nearly a minute before regaining control of her functions.

"That is… I am not sure how to react. I had heard tales of pryomancers using all a manner of arcane rituals to gain foreknowledge, but I off passed them off as mere tales. "Mike shrugged.

"Good to know, but I'm not just a tale." He paused briefly, before delving into his bottomless box. When he pulled his arms from within, they held a large sack of glittering golden powder, which he handed to a startled Quelana.

"This should help, though really you're already leagues ahead of Quelaag. She was shirtless." Quelana muffled a cough and turned away, suddenly aware of the fact that she was clothed in tattered rags, in the presence of a shirtless young man.

"I suppose this wouldn't hurt either." When she looked up, Mike was buttoning a leather vest over a loose white cotton shirt, both having appeared from his box.

Both then paused to regain their bearings, and to give time to Quelana to cover herself in a dense layer of repair powder. When Mike looked back at her a moment later, he was hit with a wave of nostalgia as he recalled the beginning cutscene of Dark Souls, one he'd not viewed for more than half a decade.

"You look just like your mom." The words slipped out unbidden, said by accident. Quelana turned away shyly, twisting a lock of her hair tightly in her pale fingers. Now in robes hanging loosely off her form, Quelana looked strikingly like the witch had, save for the charred hands and elaborate robes. Hers were simple black silk edged with gold in geometric patterns not unlike the witches ring on his hand.

"So uh… do you think I can get a hold of some basic fire sorcery runes now?" Mile asked curiously as Quelana looked anywhere but at him. She jumped at the question, her lips instantly moving to exclaim 'no!' Barely she held back, thinking.

"Hmm. I suppose I can reverse engineer a little from these…" Quelana jerked her head up, to find Mike running his thumb over the few runes shed placed on the torch. Pulling another stick from the ground, he mimicked her earlier movements, carving the same runes into the wood. With a flick of his hand the new torch was lit, now identical to the original in almost every way possible.

"I…" Quelana found herself flashing back to the events of now Lost Izalith, her lips opening and closing slowly as she tried to muster up an answer. After a short time, she lowered her head, defeated. With a sigh she looked up to the undead calmly regarding her and nodded.

With a flourish Mike pulled a few papers and a quill from his bottomless box, extending both and a small board to Quelana. With careful movements she scribed almost a page and a half of delicate, angular symbols, all the while looking up at Mike, as though he might grab them and dash off any moment. As a final touch, to Mikes surprise, she flipped both of the pages, writing single lines of runes onto the backs, which glowed once before disappearing in a haze of orange.

"What was that?" Mike asked, curiously. When she handed him both papers, he flipped them repeatedly, as though that would reveal the enchanted ink.

"A light enchantment, to make them more resistant to flame." A small smile graced Quelana's lips. "I found it quite useful when experimenting in my youth."

A cough interrupted the two, startling Mike, and causing Quelana to jump with a slight scream.

"Touching." The voice dripped with sarcasm. "Now that you've finished blackmailing my sister for the magic that destroyed our home, I feel it is time you left, to do whatever you 'Chosen Undead' do after ringing those infernal sounding bells."

A soundless scream marred Quelana's face as Quelaag pulled herself onto the ledge Mike had built, her flames dampened, for the moment. Mike grinned and slung his arm over the shocked witches shoulders, pulling her forward.

"Quelana, meet Quelaag. Despite her looks, she's actually about twice as sour as you would expect." A sneer made its way onto Quelaag's face as she finally heaved herself onto the ledge fully. Mike noted a curious white garment covering her torso as she leaned in close to him, frowning.

"I distinctively recall these looks calling your full attention earlier." With a sharp twist of her waist she turned to Quelana, who was staring at her with wide eyes. "Sister, do close your mouth, you'll catch mosquitoes."

Quelana hid behind Mike as Quelaag drew closer, inspecting her newly repaired robes. With a small frown the undead grabbed a hold of her arms, pulling her forward to face Quelaag.

"She doesn't bite, I promise." He reassured, pushing her forward to face the demoness. With shaking steps she approached Quelaag's humanoid portion, before collapsing into her arms. Silently Mike mouthed 'Is this normal?' to Quelaag. The demoness quirked a brow, looked between Quelana and him, and nodded once, with a look that said 'You're explaining later.' Mike nodded in response.

"How about we go see Quelaav, she was always better at holding conversation than I." Quelaag lifted Quelana effortlessly onto her back, before turning to descend the hollow. Before she left, she turned back to Mike and tossed him a soft bundle wrapped in white cloth oddly reminiscent of that which Quelaag was clad in. After that, the spider retracted its legs from the walls, and disappeared from view.

"Curious." Mike said to himself as he unwrapped a square of white silk from what appeared to be a set of black robes. Upon closer inspection, the robes turned out to be a silky black shirt and an accompanying pair of black pants, complete with golden symbols twisting around the hems of the clothing.

Moments after, a gut wrenching pain doubled over the newly clothed pyromancer making his way into the swamp, wracking his body with pain as the world shook around him. When he was finally released from the tight grip the pain held him in, two blue glows in the darkness of the swamp met his gaze. Suddenly thankful for his new robes, Mike ducked behind a root, frowning.

"Why blue phantoms?"

* * *

A clang reverberated through the swamp, echoing far from its source. With a quick step Mike avoided a second swing from the Sever wielded by his opponent, the pitted black blade missing his face by little more than a hands width. Silently, the blue phantom knee deep in the mud advanced on him, a dagger in their left hand swiping forward to cut into his ribs painfully.

With a hiss Mike retaliated, fire springing from his right hand to envelop the phantoms sword arm. The combustion did little to the armored figure, barely slowing their movements as they cleaved the air next to him uselessly. In his left hand Mike held the grass crest shield, its surface marred with a multitude of gouges and dents where it'd deflected and blocked strikes.

The first blue phantom had gone down quickly to a great fireball, their loose tan clothing indicative of a sorcerer. Their last movement, however, had summoned into existence a massive soul spear, surprising Mike, and calling the other enemy from the far end of the swamp.

Now that exact enemy, clad in basic knights armor, was pressing Mike further and further back, toward the wooden walkways leading up to the sewers. E sounds of cragspiders moving through the mire occasionally sounded from behind him, sending goosebumps up Mikes spine.

"Dammit." Mike flailed wildly, his sudden eruption of flame briefly blinding the phantom. A roll gave him distance to charge a fist sized fireball, which he aimed at the knight's face.

"Why."

"Don't."

"You."

"Just."

"DIE?"

A silent slice was his response, the Sever sending sparks flying as it dug into the wall nearby. The wall? Suddenly, Mike noticed a large mass of vertical stone to his immediate back and left, blocking his movement further away from the phantom. With a suddenness that startled the knight, he yelled loudly and dove forward, fist encased in fire. A hooked blade raised in slow motion to catch him in the chest, and likely kill him immediately.

A bulky figure fell from above, landing heavily atop the phantom. With a deft movement they withdrew a thin sword from the knight, before dropping silently to the ground.

"What."

Oscar slid his sword into its sheath and crossed his arms, his face illuminated by an orb of flame in Mike's palm. The undead opened and closed his mouth wordlessly, before settling on a sentence.

"Deus ex Oscar. I suppose you're here because I've been gone for too long?" A splash interrupted the elite knight's response. With an array of colorful curses Laurentius pulled himself from the mud, before turning to Mike.

"One month, three days, and…" Oscar counted on his fingers. "Roughly five hours. I suppose you've wild tale to tell us, likely involving the discoloration of your face?" Mike was suddenly aware of both of the gazes looking over the left, scarred side of his face.

"Something like that." He admitted wit a nod. "First, let me…" With quick movements his name appeared in white on a solid section of the ground. After tucking his soapstone into a pocket, Mike turned and began to lead his friends into the swamp.

"So it all began when I decided to try and skip a few enemies up at the top of Blighttown…"


	20. Chapter XX

_**Been watching My Hero Academia recently, and damn do I feel like doing something in that direction. Anyway, enjoy the chapter. This one is a bit more of a transition chapter, but hopefully next week we'll finally see Sens.**_

"So let me get this straight, you lived with the _Mother of Pyromancy_ for almost month?" Mike winced at the volume Laurentius's voice reached, enhanced by the small elevator they stood in. He nodded as Oscar pushed the button in the center of the lift into the floor, the grating sound drowning out all other noise.

"And I got to see her half demon sister shirtless." He quipped, catching the older man off guard.

The return trip from Blighttown had been quite a bit less painful than the descent, the only hold up being Mike's curiosity toward the cragspider's solid flames. After thoroughly annoying Oscar by having the knight hold one of the creatures down for a time they had begun the ascent, acquiring a second fire keeper soul on the way up.

"Shhh." Oscar held up a hand, quickly silencing them as the lift shuddered to a halt. After a second, a loud clang resounded from above, accompanied by a yell from a familiar, not-so jolly voice. The scene the three dashed up through the ruins of Firelink shrine to was a complete bloodbath.

Lying on his back, the Crestfallen knight of all people nursed a sharply twisted right arm as he blocked a heavy blow from the spiked mace of Petrus, whose face was twisted into a malice filled sneer. Behind him, Anastasia shook in fear in her cage, unable to move from where she lay.

The yell Solaire had released was aimed at none other than Lautrec, who flipped away upon noticing the trio's presence. A low chuckle was all his acknowledgement of them before he turned and dashed up the stairs leading to the top of the shrine.

A pair of seconds passed as Mike took it all in. Crestfallen defending Anastasia, Petrus being... Petrus. Solaire giving chase to Lautrec. As he was moving to flick a ball of roaring fire at Petrus' back Oscar shot forward, his Balder side sword entering his back alongside his family sword. A gurgle escaped the slimy bustard's mouth as he fell onto his knees, his mace falling from his fingertips. As Oscar and Mike bolted to the top of the shrine he disappeared, Crestfallen sighing before falling ontonhis back heavily.

"So you _didn't_ hollow down in that hole. How... Unfortunate." Lautrecs voice was silky and low, not betraying a shred of emotion as Solaire, Oscar, Laurentius, Griggs, who had come running, and Mike surrounded him. His eyes, dark brown in color, were locked with the black clad pyromancers, a fireball barely held back in his fingers.

"Everyone, take notice here." Mike announced suddenly. "It was far too easy, this whole 'prophecy' thing. Ring a bell. Fall down a hole. Ring a bell after staring at a shirtless demon. Figures of all people _you_ would be an antagonist, though I suppose you've likely a larger force behind you. Fina, maybe?"

Laurentius's stared back, unmoving. "Yes." He began, after a time. "You're just as... Learned as suspected. It is unfortunate that you've provoked her wrath."

Mike latched onto the wording of the sentence. " _Her._ Not Fina, but definitely female. I've only killed one other person, and that was unprovoked, so... Velka? Really? Why, I didn't even kill Oswald!"

Lautrec shrugged. Suddenly, the knight started backing away, though the presence of other undead pushed him toward the dead tree taking up space next to the bonfire. With a sudden, sharp movement he pulled a tiny blade from his chestplate, his hands sending the black weapon flying toward Mike at untraceable speed. At the last moment, Oscar jerked up his shield, the blade ringing loudly as it was sent flying upward, safely over Mike's head.

"Damn!" Lautrec began edging backward, his feet just at the edge of the structure. Mike held his hand up to stop the movement of the others. If he escaped then, they would never-

"Duck!" A flick of hishis hand sent a small ring of green flying toward Lautrec at a laughably low speed. Before it could touch the knight's helm, the hands wrapped over his chest came to life, grabbing the odd item out ofthe air.

"A sprout?" Lautrec questioned.

"Not just any sprout. Goodbye, knight of Fina. Now, all of you might actually want to duck."

For emphasis, Mike turned away from Lautrec, who looked down at the curl of green in his hands curiously.

Boom.

Lautrec was given not a millisecond before he was consumed in an explosion of wood that shook the very cliff side the shrine was built on. Suddenly displaced by a tree as large as a full grown oak, a concussive burst of air blasted through the shrine, knocking over pottery, people, and the corpse still hanging over the side of the well.

Even as the five picked themselves off the ground the tree continued to grow, a single golden arm sticking out of its side. Before long, the metal faded into ash, which began to fall down towards the bonfire.

Only to stop. Unlike most respawning entities, such as himself, the ash that was Lautrec hovered just above the bonfire, something preventing him from reforming. After a short struggle between invisible forces the ash began to move skyward at a slow pace, as it moving through thick syrup.

"What th-" A number of yells echoed through the shrine as the ash phased through Mike, doubling in size as it sped away with him in its embrace. The voices grew quieter and quieter as he was pulled up and away from the shrine, eventually coming to a stop at the edge of a cliff. As he was placed down on its edge a cold grip suddenly enveloped his hands, vicelike in its strength.

When he reformed, Lautrec tugged familiar, tiny black dagger from the cliff. As it came free of the moss covered stone it collapsed, turning into the same ash it had just forcefully redirected.

"Whoa. I want one!" Lautrec stiffened as he remembered his charge. With a snarl he turned to Mike.

"Shut up!" A gauntlet fell solidly on the smaller undeads face, snapping his head to the side. When his ears had stopped ringing, Mike turned to the golden knight with a quirked brow.

"Really? I had figured you might've been a bit... Stronger, for a goddesses champion. On that note, why Velka? I mean, I can understand Fina, goddess of beauty and all-" _Crack._

Mike coughed as he twisted his head back into its normal position. A small trickle of blood dripped from his lip where Lautrec had backhanded him.

A low, dark voice interrupted the one sided conversation. "Lautrec, do remember your manners..."

Mike turned to focus on a small ledge next to their own, on which a handful of shadows had begun to amass. As they grew taller Lautrec dropped to one knee, dragging Mike down roughly with him.

"My Lady, I apologize for my transgressions." Lautrec's voice was low and emotionless as the shadows coalesced, forming a black humanoid cloaked in flowing shadows, not unlike how Nito looked, except without the bones and sword hand.

"As loyal as ever, I see. Rise, I always was irritated by that bumbling fools' servants, scraping the floor with their noses simply because he existed." Lautrec rose gracefully, Mike moving with him.

"M'lady, this is he." The hands on his chestplate thrust Mike forward, toward the dark goddess standing in front of him. Mike was more curious than scared, his eyes roaming over the odd lightless figure as her own inky orbs stared back.

"Barely a threat, I cannot believe you fell to such a bumbling fool."

Lautrec nodded. "I did not anticipate the presence of an archtree so far from the lower world. It will not happen again."

Velka sighed. "Bind him, and come. We've still debts to collect."

Mike watched as a coil of black rope fell from the sky, into Lautrec's expectant hands. With a few quick motions the rope was tightly coiled around his hands and legs, binding him into place tightly.

"Well?" Velka said suddenly. "Have you anything to say, the usual dramatics you humans so love to spout?"

Mike shrugged, at least as much as he could, standing stiffly in place. "Eh. I figure this'll kill me, and I'll reappear at the fire. Still don't understand why you're trying to kill me, but I guess that makes me doing the same a simple enough choice to make."

Velka laughed lowly as she wrapped Lautrec in a shroud of darkness, whisking him off to places unknown. As she sank into the ground, her final words echoed up the cliff to him. "That rope is enchanted to shrink at a pace that changes depending on your vitality, to ensure as much pain as possible. Usually, it takes around fifteen days to make the toughest humans scream, reducing them to crying wrecks not long after. I suspect you'll be screaming before then."

With a slight hiss of shadow the goddess disappeared entirely, leaving Mike frowning over his predicament. As explained, he was already uncomfortable, with the rope clenching around him every few minutes. Or hours. He couldn't tell, facing a cliff with no indication of time.

To pass the time until something occurred, Mike mulled over the runes he'd gotten from Quelana. It hadn't taken more than a few minutes to memorize them, and already he could see the slight structural differences between them and sorcery. It was no wonder Quelana had offered them so freely, going blind, he might've created another Moonlight Butterfly spell.

Eventually, hours, or maybe days later, the world began to shift in and out of focus. Likely a result of his sharply constricted lungs, Mike grimaced, unable to even panic much in such a situation. He had stopped speaking ages ago, to conserve air.

Time passed, and eventually his vision faded entirely. Or maybe he passed out. Either way, he could still think, at least. Hopefully, he would die soon, so that he could go give Velka some payback.

A metal screech jolted Mike from unconsciousness. Wildly twisting his neck around, albeit with slow motions, he tried to discern the source of the sound, which continued loudly behind him. Suddenly, a familiar voice entered his ears.

"Damn kid. If I had known you were so danger prone, I'd have been on your side _way_ earlier." A slight wheeze of relief slid out from Mike's lips as a snapping sound came from behind him. With far more strength than should've been possible in one human, Mildred snapped the ropes binding him one by one, each one bringing with it more stinging relief than the last.

"This... Is twice." Mike coughed, his breath coming in stinging gasps. "Twice, I've been saved from unlikely situations. Someone, somewhere hates me for being so lucky."

Mildred snorted. "Kid, you ain't lucky. If anything, you're an idiot for getting into these situations in the first place. Also, fuck you for letting me die back in spider bitches place."

Mike shrugged when his shoulders had been released. "M'kay. I got to spend a few hours staring at her, so it was very worth it."

"Got me there." Mildred admitted. With a final pull, she snapped the last rope around his ankles. Mike clenched his teeth in pain as a breeze passed over him, stinging his skin, most of which consisted of bright red rope shaped bruises.

"Alright, time to go down. Here, I'll meet ya there." Mike looked at Mildred in confusion, before shrugging and taking the offered homeward bone from her hand. With shaking fingers he crushed it, and sighed as his vision was overtaken with ash and heat.

A sudden scream of metal against rock startled him from his reverie. Around him, Mike noticed the other survivors of the battle clamping their hands over their heads as the sound ripped through the area, courtesy of the cleaver shredding the cliff side at high speed. With a solid thump Mildred hit the dirt a minute later, a wide grin on her face.

"Mike!" The first to notice him was, of all people, Crestfallen. Following his exclamation, all commotion in the area came to a stop as everyone's attention was drawn to him. Suddenly, he was very self conscious of the scars now riddling his skin, the rope burns far more prominent than the previous ones. Absentmindedly, Mike glanced up, only to notice Mildred being led away by Altin, of all people. The two looked to be talking quite heatedly.

Before he could open his mouth to speak, a blue blur bowled the newly reformed undead into the newly grown archtree, a cold tongue sliming his face vigorously.

"Li-Lily! Stobbit, I know, I know! Aggggh, you weigh so mu-" Mike paused, his arms holding the excited lizard at bay. Much had changed in her, too, in his time away, it seemed. Still as short as before, now she sported four slightly longer forearms, each far more maneuverable than the shorter four. All four 'hands' waved wildly as her beady eyes locked onto him, trying to cling to his robes.

After calming down with a large orb of souls, Lily contented herself with lounging over his right shoulder, front paws clutching the souls to her sheet as tiny teeth ground it down slowly. With a sigh Mike leaned back, resting against the roots of the new tree.

"What happened?" The question came from Oscar, with most of the other residents of the shrine crowded behind him, sans Anastasia, Mildred, and Altin.

"Velka seems to dislike my meddling." Mike said casually. A number of people looked down on him doubtfully.

"Tried to tie me up with dark rope. Mildred ex machina-ed me."

Mildred, who had appeared from the back of the shrine interrupted. "Yeah, let them go, and then left me to do all the hard work."

Mike scoffed. "Nah. I actually kicked both of their asses, and then took a nap to recuperate."

"Whatever." Mildred said dryly. With a sudden flick of her wrist, a bundle of darkness flew at Mike. "Catch!"

The following scream was a perfect example of an extremely, totally masculine scream, as Mike jumped to his feet, kicking away the robes she'd thrown on him. After they were kicked a fair distance away he turned to Mildred with irritation. The blonde undead laughed loudly.

"Fuck you. Next time I'm in Blighttown I'm siccing Quelaag on you." Mildred shrugged.

"I was distracted." She parried.

"By her chest? Didn't know you swung your cleaver that way." Mildred threw a final piece of slightly larger rope at Mike.

"Ass."

"Not denying it."

"Whatever. Going to kill stuff in the Burg, call me if you're dying so I can laugh."

A heavy sigh escaped Mike's lips as she walked off, soon followed by the rest of the small crowd.


	21. Chapter XXI

_**Please leave a review if you have the time, it really does help hearing straight from you guys! Also, next Wednesday I'll be leaving a few recommendations for other good fanfics, for when you're waiting for me to update. Enjoy!**_

"Wait wait wait, say that all again, I zoned like, three minutes into your monologue." Mike looked between Oscar and Laurentius expectantly. A sigh escaped the knight, his currently bare hands massaging his temples tiredly.

"While you were playing in the mud-" he began. "-a trio of undead appeared in the shrine, two paladins and a priestess."

"That'd be Nico, Vince, and Rhea." Mike added. To Oscars irritation, he took out a paper and began writing as the Laurentius butted in.

"Yes, well we talked to them, and discovered they planned to head down into the catacombs." The scruffy pyromancer nodded in the direction of said caves. "I was right excited to join them, and Oscar here tagged along when they told him his fancy sword might help."

Oscar nodded. "It seems some centuries ago my family had the sword blessed, and I was simply not informed."

Mike snapped his fingers as things began to fall into place. "So you six went into the catacombs, and judging by his absence, Petrus died in some way? Wait, let me guess, a bald man with a spear pulled a lever while you were in the middle of a bridge?"

Oscar and Laurentius looked at Mike in confusion. The knight was the first to speak. "I- no, we didn't encounter any such undead. It was just as we neared the bottom of the chasm that Petrus led us into a room full of skeletons and left us to die."

Mikes brows rose in surprise. "Well then, that's new. I don't suppose either of you know what happened to him?"

Laurentius shook his head. "Didn't see him once coming back up. The miss was in a bad state, all teary-eyed about 'their fearless leader' disappearing. I think she took a liking to sir knight here after that, especially after he accepted her offer to teach him a few healing miracles."

Mike turned to Oscar with a grin. "Turns out I want the only one making friends then."

"I!" Oscar looked taken aback. "I would never so much as think of-"

"Woah there, chill. It was merely a joke." Mike stifled a laugh as Oscar indignantly shook his reddening face.

"A terrible one. Oh! I had almost forgotten." Oscar changed gears immediately, quick to distract Mike with a red paper folded into a thick square. The undead picked at the paper carefully for a few minutes, until it fell open into a hand sized pyromancy that was immediately recognizable.

"No way!" Mike exclaimed, calling upon his pyromancy flame immediately. With a flick of his hand power within had been cast, and a sudden, stinging heat erupted from his chest, spreading to the rest of his body immediately.

"Is that...?" Laurentius leaned in closely as Mike clenched his fist in pain, inspecting the red discoloration that had settled on the undeads skin, or more precisely, erupted from it.

"Agh!" Mike twisted his hands forcefully, grabbing a hold of the magic working through him and sharply lowering its strength. When he opened his clenched eyes, he found his skin to be slightly crusted with a fine layer of brown dust. Laurentius and Oscar simply stared, the latter more confused than before he'd passed the paper to Mike.

"Ew." Mike began, dusting his arms off with a frown. "That, was power within, a pyromancy developed by Carmina." Laurentius's eyes bulged.

"But I've never heard of such a-" Mike interrupted with a raised palm.

"No idea why, but it was below the large chaos bug you two at some point killed, or ran really fast under. I can see now why it wasn't so widespread, just casting it at normal strength really hurt."

Laurentius closed his mouth slowly. After glancing down at his arms, Mike continued. "It appears flawed, for some reason being strengthened makes the body heat up significantly, and holy hell does it hurt. Here."

Mike passed the bent paper to Laurentius, who accepted it gingerly. "If I want to feel a load of pain I already have immolation, and I don't think even it feels that bad. If you want to tinker with it, go ahead, just try not to damage the original much."

With careful movements Laurentius tucked the paper into a large pocket on the inside of his robes, alongside a number of others that crinkled loudly as they were shuffled around. When he had finished, he returned his attention to Mike.

"So... What now?" Oscar asked when Mike failed to continue. With a start, the dark robed undead jerked upright, looking around wildly.

"Note to self: Power Within has irritating drawbacks." With a serious expression Mike turned to his companions, before realizing one of them was missing.

"SOLAIRE!" Griggs jumped as the sound assaulted his ears, sending his quill flying. With a glare of irritation focused at Mike he stomped down the stairs to retrieve it, blatantly ignoring the knight that jogged loudly past him as he bent over.

"You called?" Solaire said as he came to a stop, his helmet tucked under his arm. It appeared he had been conversing with Anastasia below.

"Awesome, now we have the full team. The plan: to assault Sens fortress, which incidentally is the place Siegmeyer seems to have disappeared to." To Laurentius, he added "He's a knight of Catarina we lost in the belltower a while ago, before you came along."

"Ah, this I have heard of!" Solaire exclaimed. "The story was an old one, one I caught at the camp of a few older mercenaries some years back. It was said that entire battalions of knights from both the kingdoms of Balder and Berenike fought their way through, trying to gain the favor of the gods. Unfortunately, I never did hear the end of the tale."

"Oh, they all went hollow, or died." Mike ended.

Solaire frowned. "Entire battalions, gone?! How then can we expect to pass through this place, with a mere handful of undead?"

"Uh, did you just hear what you said?" Mike asked. "Likely a lot of them died prior to undeath, and the rest hollowed, leaving a mere handful behind. Basically, that means they were defeated once, we have as much time as we want!" Afterwards he added "oh, and I know the layout of the entire place, that helps."

"Of course, I had forgotten your knowledge!" Solaire bowed his head. "Forgive me for that, it slipped my mind while you were absent."

"Forgiven sunbro." Solaire frowned in confusion at the nickname. "Anyway, the insides are such: primarily, there are three traps that make up the place, and a fourth that is in no way an actual danger, except to idiots. First, there are the lizardmen. Basically humanoid serpents, there are sword and lightning wielding varieties. The latter has four arms, and no apparent way to cast the lightning, which is actually some form of magic, oddly enough." Solaire let out a small gasp at that, but was silent as Mike continued.

"Those will mostly be irritations that distract you from the primary traps: swinging blades about this wide." Mike held out his arms to their full length. "And boulders that roll down stairways we need to climb. Thankfully, they're easy to work around, and aren't that big of a deal, as long as you pay attention. The final major trap is a giant at the top of the place, it'll throw explosives down at us just about whenever we're on the roof, and must be taken out before we even attempt the final boss. That's... About it, really, without going into specifics."

The three looked at the young undead silently, digesting the information. Oscar was the first to speak. "Am I wrong in assuming there will be this you insist on acquiring?" Mike nodded immediately.

"A ring- no wait, two, or maybe three rings, a spell, a spear, Big Hat Logan, and... damn, another ring. Now that I think of it, this place has a lot of rings." Oscar, Solaire, and most prominently, Laurentius gaped at Mike.

"Do you mean to say the Big Hat Logan is in that fortress?" Laurentius waved a hand in the general direction of the nearby elevator, his eyes wide.

"Yup. I was hoping to grab a few lasers while we were there, it would make Anor Londo a hell of a lot easier." Laurentius nodded slowly in agreement.

"I am not even a sorcerer, yet the man is practically a legend in the swamp even! Why is he in the fortress, does he research the magical lightning, as you intend to?" Mike shook his head.

"The lightning he likely didn't notice, he intended to pass through on the way to Anor Londo, but was imprisoned by the afore mentioned snake men. His true goal is the Duke's Archives, where he wishes to study Seath's magic. I hope to recruit him, at least for a bit, but worst case scenario he wanders back here to the shrine until I open the way to the library." Mike paused for a breather.

"So, we can go at really any time, though I'll need about two minutes to talk to Rickert first." Oscar, Laurentius, and Solaire looked between themselves briefly, before nodding at once.

"Perfect. I'll talk with Ricky, you guys head to Andre's."

Standing shoulder to shoulder, four men looked up at the fortress stretching into the sky above them. In Mike's left hand, his staff, newly reinforced, albeit a bit quickly, with a few shards of green titanite by Rickert, who had been all to eager to try something new. In his right hand flickered his pyromancy flame, ready to cast.

"Display number one!" Mike suddenly burst out, pointing down. (Heh.) When they looked, the other three were simply confused.

"Its... The floor?" Solaire said slowly, bending over to peer at the indicated tile. As he looked closer, his eyes discovered an odd discrepancy between the height of this tile and the rest, barely a fingers width, and difficult to see in the shaded entrance. Curiously, he reached down to touch it, only to be stopped by a hasty movement of Mike's hands.

"Its an automated crossbow." Mike explained, causing the undead present to scatter from the trap. With a slight stomp the tile was depressed, and the group watched as three solid steel spears shot past in the blink of an eye, clattering to the ground some distance away. A moment later, the tile retracted from the floor with a click, resetting.

"Quicker than expected, but manageable. If you want to be especially lazy, these can be used to kill a majority of the lizards here." Mike waved his hands at the two pillars immediately within view. "Such as the ones behind those. I'm thinking divide and conquer, got it?" The knights nodded, and stepped forward with their shields raised.

Oscar and Mike went right, Solaire and Laurentius left. Beginning the fight with a backstab, Oscar then retreated with his shield raised as the snakeman climbed to its feet, hissing loudly. Across the room the other could be heard doing the same. After carefully taking aim Mike reeled back and swung his arm, pitching a fist sized orb of fire at the lizard. With a low hiss it fell, and Oscar lowered his shield. In all, the fight, if it could be called such, was over in less than a minute. Not long after the other half of their party appeared from the other side of the room, and they continued onward.

"And here are the deadly traps. Be particularly wary of the lizard up above, it's one of the lightning ones." Almost on cue, a long bolt of lightning streaked past, illuminating a ferocious snake person with not one, but four swords strapped to its back.

"Oscar, this is the chance for you to use your shield." The knight nodded and brought his shield up and to the right, angling it so that the lightning would be redirected, and into directly absorbed upon impact. After walking along a narrow ledge past the first swinging blade, a second bolt flew from the darkness, glancing off of the shield exactly as it was meant to.

"Oh yeah, well also need to catch that one, if we can. I'll pass you guys the idea when we get up there." The others failed to respond as another man sized blade sliced by, startling them. With light steps did they continue, pausing every few seconds to check their surroundings. About halfway along Oscar was forced to turn and walk slowly backwards after a lightning bolt slammed into Mike's back, leaving him a twitching mess for a few seconds, though he assured them it was actually a good thing, and hastily scribbled down a few notes afterward.

"So what is this plan of yours?" Oscar asked as they took a break at the top of the stairs, the sound of lightning striking the wall interrupting him every few seconds.

"Well, I haven't much use with it, but if Laurentius could lend me Iron Flesh I could use that to get across the bridge, and just use my weight to take down the lizard and disarm it." He turned apologetically to Laurentius. "I don't have any now, but I could give you the souls later?"

"Oh, sure! Here, let me find it..." As the pyromancer dug through his things Mike pried Lily from his shoulder, setting her down on the floor nearby. With a high pitched huff she curled up in a corner of the stairs, her scarf flopping over her head to cover her entirely.

"Here!" Laurentius handed Mike a sheet of paper with a cuboid image on the front. "Do be careful, however." He warned. "It is terribly heavy, and difficult to maintain." Mike nodded and closed his eyes, focusing. After a moment, he pressed his hand to his chest, and his skin took on a shiny silver sheen. With a grimace, he forced himself to stand straighter.

"Ugh, this feels like a hangover, except I'm not exhausted yet. Oscar, your shield?" After gripping the shield in both hands Mike climbed the last few steps with a groan, his weight causing each step to take an eternity. Upon taking notice of him, the lizard immediately assaulted him with a barrage of lightning, the majority of which glanced off or was absorbed into Oscar's shield. The few bolts that got past, however, were quite painful, arcing across his iron skin and leaving a burnt smell lingering in the air.

The first blade missed him by a large amount, leaving a passing breeze to greet him as it slid through the air behind him. The second was not so far, but still a hands width away by the time he had dragged his feet past. The lizard hissed out a warning of some kind as he drew nearer, giving a few calm seconds to pull himself past the third blade, and pause to regain his breath.

The sound of steel on leather filled the air as four warped blade were pulled from their sheaths simultaneously, their owner slowly stepping forward onto the bridge as Mike pulled himself past the fourth blade, and just into he nick of time too. As he cleared it the blade came swinging back, its cold side sparking as it came in contact with his heel, thankfully leaving no substantial damage.

"Hello there." Mike said plainly at the lizard as it approached. After it failed to respond, Mike did the first thing that came to mind. With a step, he was within its reach, and it swung all four blades at once in a single, fluid motion.

One blade went flying immediately. Mike allowed himself a slight chuckle as the second rebounded off his forehead with a loud 'clang!' that echoed throughout the room, before the blade was knocked from its wielder with a strong punch from an iron fist. The third and fourth blades slid uselessly off Oscars shield, before Mike sharply slammed its edge down on the wrists wielding them, sending the swords flying. As a final measure of security, Mike reared back, and with a single, solid punch the snake was knocked out, and collapsed into his hands.

With a wave, iron flesh was canceled, and the others were summoned over. After tying it up with strips of leather the lizard was held by Mike, Lily moving to his left shoulder to maximize her distance from it, though not before releasing an angry hiss.

"Another crossbow, watch it!" Mike hopped over the pressure plate, thankful for his lowered weight, and the others followed suit behind him. The room held little more than a few shards of large titanite, and was therefore passed through rather quickly.

"Oh my..." Solaire said softly as they passed into another tall room. Below them dropped a pit with no foreseeable bottom, a guaranteed death. To their right, a sleeping lizard. To their left, a massive set of stairs, and to their immediate front, a door opening to a path that rumbled as boulders taller than a man shot past, killing a loitering lizard instantly.

"Hm." Mike leaned out slightly after a boulder had shot past, only to retract his head sharply as another almost took his nose off. "Nope, not that way. Laurentius, you up for some stair climbing?"

"I, uh..." The small man was surprisingly light, at least for Oscar, who was chosen to act as the ladder. After tellinh him how to control the boulders above, the man was sent upward, and they waited.

Soon after, the boulders outside stopped, and a rumbling sounded around them out of nowhere. The knights looked around in confusion as Mike waited calmly, until something large and dark rolled down from above. With an explosive sound the nearby wall was thoroughly destroyed, its resident sleeper killed in an instant.

"Oscar, Solaire, meet Logan." Both knights looked around in confusion as the boulders stopped, and Mike began into the room that'd been opened up. Around them hung cages, the majority holding assortments of bones, clothing, and armor in piles. Ignoring it all, Mike led them to a darker figure farther into the room, who merely turned his head as they approached.

"Big Hat Logan, it is very nice to meet you." Mike stuck out his hand cheerfully.

"I, hm. Forgive me, I'm afraid I am at a loss, might you give me your names?" Oscar and Solaire stared in awe as Mike brought his hand up to the lock on the cage the sorcerer was locked in, fire flaring brightly as he worked.

"I am Mike, this is Oscar, and the one in the white is Solaire, both of Astora, and I of Earth. Before you ask, I do not have prophetic gifts, merely foreknowledge." Logan snorted in disbelief.

"You were being tailed by three mages from Vinheim, all of which are of some sort of secrecy club." The sound of flame melting metal paused as Mike looked up, into the drawn face of the master sorcerer in front of him. "I'm not pulling your chain, I've knowledge of most of the areas in immediate relation to the pat of the chosen undead. Beyond that, I'm looking to acquire one master sorcerer on the way to Anor Londo, care to join the club?"

Logan was silent, still reeling at the idea that one undead had so much knowledge. Finally, he coughed dryly. "I... guess I could join you. I don't suppose you intend to head to the mad Duke's Archive's after that, though?"

"Exactly!" Mike exclaimed. "Difficult to believe, but in there is a key to the ruins of Oolacile. I figure you might like it there." Logan suppressed a startled gasp at the thought. Forcing down his emotions, he nodded slowly as the door to his cage creaked open.

"Welcome to the crazies then!" Only then did the sorcerer notice the angry lizard person slung over Mikes shoulder, alongside the rather larger titanite lizard on his other side. Suppressing his scholarly ways, he pulled his staff from his side, and followed the undead out of his prison. This certainly was turning out better than he had anticipated when leaving the Dragon School.

 _ **Ugh, caught a stomach bug three days ago, and am very happy that I already had this chapter written. Next up, we reunite with Siegmeyer and some new friends, Logan is intrigued with Mike's different mixtures and applications of magic, and the iron golem gets to know what its insides look like on the outside.**_


	22. Chapter XXII

**_Been out of it for so long,I forgot to actually write Solaire into this chapter. Fixed that. Hopefully another chapter tomorrow, which will certainly bring us up to at least the painted world._**

 ** _Spoiler alert, the painting world is coming up._**

 ** _Pleeeeeeease review if you have criticisms. It makes me feel all special inside. Or that's the coffee. Too much coffee._**

As the oldest, and likely physically weakest of their group, it came to no surprise that Logan needed a helping hand to clamber up the wall to where Laurentius awaited, a hand outstretched. The older pyromancer stared in awe as Logan flopped onto the floor, before jerkily helping the master sorcerer.

"Gods Damn these bricks!" Logan complained loudly as he hiked up his robe, which had caught upon a jagged edge. Solaire graciously helped the sorcerer up with a surprising display of strength.

"See you guys at the top!" Mike called out as he turned to the right, heading for a doorway leading outside. With a fire orb in hand he poked his nose out, only to jerk himself backwards as a gleaming stone blade carved into the wall next to his face, sending chipped bricks flying. With a hiss the snake jerked its blade free, the unknown material completely unscathed.

"Boom." Mike stated as he let twin fire orbs fly. The first glanced off the lizard's shield and into the wall, smoldering there for a few seconds before flickering out. The second, however, flew a few seconds behind the first, and sailed over the shields lip and right into the snakes head. The stone sword of unknown make clattered loudly upon the ground as the snake brought its hands to its face, moments before it was incinerated in full, a great fireball exploding at its feet with a loud _whompf_.

Collecting the sword, Mike moved on to the next room, in who h stood a tall, female lizard. It locked eyes with him as he sized it up, his palms flaring to life with a burst of heat and magic. A hiss escaped its scaled lips as lightning flared in all four of its palms, before it wound up for a throw. For a second, Mike was certain the bolt that flew forth from its claws would pass over his left shoulder harmlessly, perhaps hitting the nearby wall before dissipating.

 _Sssssssss._

"SHIT!" Mike yelled loudly, both pyromancies disappearing in a flash as he slammed his hands into his stomach. When he peeled them from his torso they were sticky and red, and the gaping hole in his midsection stung like an absolutely nightmare.

"My turn." Mike grit out as the snake glared, already charging another bolt of lightning. Before it could pepper him with more holes it went up in flames, a choked gasp escaping its throat as it collapsed. A long draw from his estus filled the rather sizeable gap in his torso, and with a slightly limping gait he finally reached the top of the stairs.

"Kings Bling, acquired." Mike whispered as he slipped the ring of steel protection onto one of his available fingers. A thin veil of silver coldly slid over his skin, before disappearing into his skin.

As he walked back down to the next room, Mike thought about his plan for the Iron Golem. First and foremost, he would likely need to study it, to go forward with a few future plans, possibly even copying some of its magic if they could subdue it.

Oscar going first was an obvious choice, perhaps followed by Solaire, to take down both legs simultaneously. He, Laurentius, and Logan would be better suited for longer distance fights, with their repitoires of spells at their command. Taking off the arms might be possible, and opened some possibilities if they didn't immediately crumble into ash.

Suddenly, Mike noticed a loud click from the floor under him. With a startled gasp he slammed himself into the wall to his left, just before three bolts shot past at high speed, dully impacting somewhere past him. A soft hiss called through the darkness, before a lizardman fell into the circle of light Mike cast with his hands.

With a sigh Mike let his muscles relax, before scooting past the pressure plate carefully. The snake had disappeared by the time he'd scooted trough the hall, leaving a shattered table behind. Outside, no boulders rolled past, their thumps directed elsewhere.

With a pace not usually taken in the fortress, Mike headed for the bottom of the path. This time he avoided the lightning that flew at him as he turned, his return fireball knocking the snake backwards before it died. At the bottom of the path the wall had been destroyed much like above, a corpse curled in on itself the only thing present in the crumbling room. In its shriveled, rotting grasp lay that which he sought, a hefty gold ring in the shape of a twisting, coiling snake, with a tiny red eye gleaming in the firelight.

A shudder involuntarily went up his spine as Mike approached the dark tunnel just outside the destroyed room. As he entered the room beyond a clattering, rattling sound entered his ears, adding to the spooky feel of the place.

Trying to be as stealthy as possible, Mike retrieved an object he'd yet to use since acquiring it at the beginning of his journey, a Lloyd's Talisman. The glass sphere held some milky white liquid clamped between a solid metal ring, the contents entirely unknown in composition. With a flick of his hand the charm crashed into the floor in front of the mimic with a soft crack, sending a spray of white gas into the creature's face. An ominous creak echoed throughout the room as the mimics top folded backwards, revealing a dark brown object sticking out from its mouth.

The lightning spear crackled to life as it was removed frrom the mimic, burning off a thin layer of saliva coating its surface with a hiss. After getting a feel for its weight and magic, Mike carefully stepped past the mimic, waiting for the elevator to lower. After positioning his weapon next to him he stepped on when it did, cautious. When it began to slow he tensed, before throwing himself forward as it came to a stop. Moments later the platform continued upward, pressing into a ceiling of rusted, gnarled spikes coated in blood and dried viscera.

When he was out on the bridge above the steep pathway to Loagans prison, Mike looked upward and flared his palm fires brightly. "I'll be up there in a sec!" He yelled. Not waiting for a response, he turned and entered the other side of the bridge, where another cell waited. This one was locked, but could hot withstand the full force of a great fireball condensed inside of its corroded lock. The door exploded inward with a crash that shook the metal, leaving a warped chunk of the lock still attached to the frame.

"And the final one. Griggs is going to go wild when he sees this." Mike glanced over Hush as he tucked it into his satchel, noting the different structure the spell had from most. Not a moment later, he picked up a ring that was virtually the same, save for a small line of runes that altered the input and output to make it work as a ring.

After a small bit of backtracking Mike was back to the bridge, and with a slight skip in his step he entered the boulder mechanism room.

"I heard an explosion." Laurentius started off with. "You don't look too terrible, except for... Well the hole in your robes looks pretty nasty. But aside from that, you don't look half bad."

"Oh, this?" Mike said casually as he lifted his robes. Where the lightning had struck a number of lines had burst outwards, forming a sun-like scar over the feathered scar from the burg. "Took a lightning bolt to the chest because I was cocky. Didn't let it happen twice. The explosion was me unlocking a door from the wrong side, forcibly."

"That looks quite painful, bravo to you for not yelling!" Solaire said. Oscar polished his sword quietly.

"Interesting." Logan muttered, his eyes on the slumbering dragoncrest ring. "Where did you find that?" He inquired quietly.

"Some poor sap in black robes had a silencing spell on him, and this was nearby." Mike explained,before passing the indicated spell to Logan. The sorcerer looked at it critically before tucking it somewhere into his robes with a nod.

"And this 'sap,' is he dead?" he asked. Mike nodded, and with that, they were done. As he wanted it for research, the lizard they had captured earlier was returned to Mike's left shoulder, much to Lily's displeasure. It seemed to have awoken while he was looting, and glared daggers at the smaller blue reptile while occasionally sending a jolt of electricity through its bound claws. Unfortunately, those claws currently resided in his left shoulder blade.

Mike signed as the two released simultaneous hisses, Lily digging her tiny claws into his shoulder as the other lizard send a jolt through him, causing his arm to spasm. They moved forward as Mike comforted his pet with the massive soul from Logan's hallway, ending his torment... for now.

* * *

"Wait!" Hard footsteps echoed as the group came to a halt just before turning a corner. A bolt of lightning flew by on cue, sending chips of stone flying as it dug a crater in the wall in front of them.

"Good call." Oscar said as he peered around the corner. After repositioning his swords he pulled his shortbow from his back, and with a carefully aimed arrow he sent the lizard in the next room to its grave.

"Lemme just..." Mike muttered as he set the lizard on his left shoulder on the floor. It glared as he pulled numerous strips of cloth from his bag, knotting them expertly. In moments they turned into a pair of looped cloth strips that he slid around the snakes arms, before slinging it onto his back.

"Alright, now I won't fall. A good kick from this one might've killed me." Mike said.

"Mmm, yes, this platform seems unusually thin. Such a creature surely would've unbalanced you!" Solaire exclaimed. Mike nodded, and one by one they began to cross, the elite knight in the lead.

"Ah!" Mike yelled. Oscar froze with his left foot in the air, just as his eyes found the outline of a large raised tile in the floor. With a sigh he placed his foot beside it, creeping around carefully. Laurentius and Logan did the same, and Mike finished by jumping over it entirely.

"So I should warn you all." Mike began as they entered the archway leading to the roof. "Out here is a giant, situated atop a tower at the highest point of this fortress. From there, it'll be throwing large explosives at us, and therefore we _must_ keep moving, even if its just backwards. I don't know about you Oscar, but I'm certain that those explosives will kill Laurentius and Logan in a single hit. Maybe two, if they're lucky."

Mike turned to Logan and Laurentius. "You two, go up to the top, follow the stairs and you'll reach an intersection. There, I'll be going left for stuff, and you two right, where its safe. Oscar, you'll head for the large black knight once we take two lefts, past that is a tower with someone you might like to meet. Solaire, ill need you to head to the right, and retrieve an item in a chest down below a bit, past two Balder knights. We meet up with the two higher up, and then we'll go for the giant. Sound good?"

Laurentius, Logan, Solaire, and Oscar nodded, and Mike turned to face the roof. He immediately flew backwards as he encountered a large, round... something in front of him. With a jovial laugh, a white clad figure stepped into view, followed by two glossy green silhouettes. Behind him, the four others in his group stared as Siegmeyer lifted Mike to his feet casually, dusting him off with a gauntleted hand.

"You've arrived!"


	23. Chapter XXIII

_**These last two chapters haven't been spell checked as best as I should, but I've wanted to get them out as quickly as possible. School coming up soon, and I've also been working hard on stuff at home, so my times been a bit consumed for a bit.**_

 _ **On another note, recently a favorite story of mine called 'Loving the Dark Heart' has resumed a good updating schedule after a long time of waiting. If you're into the Aliens franchise its a pretty decent, and long fic. Check it out.**_

Twin hisses whipped through the room as both Lily and the snake caster reacted negatively to being thrown to the floor. Instinctively, the gargoyles standing just behind Siegmeyer bent into threatening crouches as they took notice of the noticeably angered reptiles.

"Friends!" Siegmeyer called out scoldingly. Both gargoyles turned to him with startled looks. "This man personally saw each of you from that constricting armor, do pay him and those accompanying him with the due respect!"

Like children, the gargoyles fell out of their tense forms, nodding slowly.

 **"S- sorr.."** Behind him,Mike heard Logan choke on a breath as the gargoyle let out the dry sound, a hand pressed to its throat.

"Don't worry about it." Mike said. When he finally got a grip on the snake he'd dropped, he lifted it onto his left shoulder again, much to Lily's displeasure.

"You though. Tell me Ricard, how'd you get with these guys?"

Solaire and Oscar jumped to attention as an elite knight in dull, aged armor stepped from the shadows, a large crest taking up the top right quarter of his breastplate.

"I didn't intend to." A dry, nasally voice echoed from the knight's helm. With one hand he flipped the metal cap off, revealing a pale face far older than his physique would have you imagine him. Gaunt cheeks hung from dark ringed eyes, giving off an exhausted look that was nothing like the smooth, effortless way in which the elite knight armor moved as he stepped forward.

"You." He singled in on Solaire instantly. With a cursory glance he had all that he needed to know. In response, the usually jolly man tensed in his armor.

"I am sorry, for your loss." Tension faded from the room instantly, replaced by confusion and some sorrow from the sunlight warrior. "I... Remember, hearing of your kind. Heretics, they called you. Claimed you to be some sort of cult. I was but a boy... But had I been able, I would've tried my best to change how yours were treated."

Solaire looked down at his feet, unusually quiet. After a time, he looked back upon at Ricard. "Thank you." His voice was soft, his hands, clenched. "It was terrible, but now, that is all behind us." His posture straightened, and he turned determinedly to Mike.

"This young man, however, has proven to me multiple times his knowledge of this place, and we, the undead. For now, I have placed my covenant behind me, to help him do as he must." Ricard looked the scruffy young man over with a keen eye, picking out his mix of weapons immediately.

"Pyromacer, warrior, and likely sorcery. An unusual mix, I must say. Judging by the robes, you're part of some unknown group, likely one related to the pyromancy or sorcery." He paused. "Intriguing."

Mike shrugged. "The robes are from a friend of mine, name of Quelaag." Ricard's eyes widened a little, before he calmed his visage. "Sorcery I learned first, then pyromancy from Laurentius here. Oh, and this is Logan, Oscar of Astora, and Solaire of Astora."

Ricard nodded to each in turn.

"Anyway." Mike began, turning back to Siegmeyer and his gargoyles. "There are two more gargoyles up in Anor Londo, both in armor. They spit lightning, but are as weak as those two were." He waved at the gargoyles at the onion knights shoulders. "You guys can have at them when we get there. Had you any luck in the upper fortress?"

Siegmeyer shook his head, a hand going to the inside of his chestplate. When he removed it, a small gold ring was clasped between his fingers. "We tried above, only to be sent flying as boulders filled with explosives rained down on us! This was all I could find just near here, though you likely know where it was retrieved from."

Mike slipped the ring on his right hand and nodded. "That'd be the giant at the top of the fortress. Well have to be quick, but if our fastest run full speed we should be able to run through before he can rain bombs on us. Any volunteers?"

Ricard raised a gauntlet, as with Oscar and Laurentius.

"The Astorans and Laurentius then. The rest of you, hold fast, we'll call down when the giant is either dead or incapacitated. Runners, roll out." Starting at a light jog, Mike led the three behind him as they went left, leaving Logan, Solaire, and Siegmeyer behind to wait. The sorcerer continued to stare at the gargoyles as Solaire struck up a conversation with Siegmeyer, the two animatedly explaining their recent exploits.

"Up here we're turning left, then after that a sharper left." Mike skipped up the stairs two at a time, followed by Oscar, then Ricard, and Laurentius taking up the rear. When they reached the broken walkway, Mike directed them right, where they one by one entered the central tower once again.

"Break!" Mike announced, giving Ricard and Laurentius a short time to catch their breath. Oscar, better practiced at running in heavy armor, was completely unaffected by the small run, and Mike regained his breath in a matter of seconds due to the green shield across his back.

"The next section is a lot thinner." Mike warned the group as they lined up in the next room. "Start moving five or so seconds after I do, I'm going to take out a crossbowman above."

As he said, Mike ran out with a pair of fireballs in his hands. After turning out of sight, there was a muffled _fwoosh,_ and the rest of them began running. Laurentius stumbled once in a cracked brick as he turned, but none fell the two or three stories down to the bottom, thankfully. Just as they filed into the top floor an explosion set off mere feet from them, sending Laurentius stumbling into the room, the last of them.

"That was close!" Laurentius said as he picked himself up off the floor. "So where's the big guy?"

"Up there." Mike pointed at the stairwell. "The plan is to bombard him with attacks before he can get us, you two with bows." Mike nodded to the Astorans. "Then retreat. We'll do that until he dies, and well then call down to the rest of them."

"Got it." Laurentius said, the Astorans quiet. As one the group moved into the stairwell.

* * *

"Whew! Siegmeyer exclaimed loudly, hands on his knees. Behind him the gargoyles patiently water for him to catch his breath, behind them, Solaire and Logan curiously inspecting the fortress.

Mike caught their attention by clapping, loudly. With their attention on him, he raised a hand toward the windows of the room, indicating the boss room.

"So, things are _slightly_ different." He began. "Normally, the only thing to worry about in this fight is the golem, and its relatively slow. That might or might not be different, I don't know. Besides that, there are now... Four lizards on those pillars, which poses a problem." Mike turned to the casters and Ricard, whom he had separated from the rest.

"You three will handle those, Logan with spells, Laurentius with flames, and arrows for Ricard." He turned to the rest of the group, sans the gargoyles, who would not participate in the fight. "The rest of you will be stabbing its legs, and not getting stepped on. _H_ _opefully_ enough damage to its ankles will cause it to fall, as usual."

"And what of yourself?" Siegmeyer asked curiously.

"I'll be climbing it, to see if I can study its core before it inevitably dies. Obviously its powered by magic, and for equally obvious reasons I want to study it." As he spoke Mike pulled on a pair of heavy steel gauntlets he'd acquired just outside, from the crestfallen merchant, who had been every bit as maddeningly crestfallen as usual.

With everything ready, Mike did one final thing. In his left hand he held a white soapstone as he exited the tower, casting a glance at the Iron Golem as he traversed an unguarded walkway. When he returned to the central tower, a white figure silently walked in behind him, its motions eerily silent, despite its enormous armor.

"Guys, Tarkus. Tarkus, guys. Everyone ready?" The melee fighters nodded. The casters nodded. The gargoyles nodded, their objective watching Mike's pair of lizards as they fought. With preparations complete, Mike entered the boss room.

With no time to spare, the fight began. Almost immediately four bolts of hot lightning streaked toward the emerging group, followed up by a thin wave of pure force from the golem's axe. Mike ducked under all of this as soon as he'd entered, behind him he heard the sound of the attacks deflecting off of Tarkus's shield.

The twang of arrows and unsheathing of sword filled the air as Mike raced toward the iron golem, each step taken in the moments between the golem's own ground shaking ones. As he ran, flames licked over his palms, carefully held in position through the force of his will.

He jumped.

A bright red flame lit up his right side as a blue glare sailed past his left. Gold lightning passed an arrow as Rickert barked out commands to the Astorans knights, Siegmeyer and Tarkus splitting up to attack from behind as Solaire and Oscar drew attention with their colorful armor and loud battle cries.

With a flick of his hands a small section of the golem's torso was blasted with enough flames to instantly kill a person, turning the metal cherry red in seconds. A swift punch dented the metal inward, before he fell to the ground, landing lightly on his feet.

"Lizards down!" Ricard called out to Mike from his position near the fog, his voice carrying over the loud ringing of the knights attacking the joints in the golem's armor. "Casters, the arms!"

Laurentius and Logan swiftly turned their attacks inward, barraging the golem's hands with fireballs and soul spears. Occasionally, Solaire would rear back as he slashed with his sword, sending a lighting spear into the behemoth's ankles.

Mike continued to jump through the chaos, using the mounds of rubble and piles of unused brick to launch himself over the fighting. With each successful burst of flame and hard punch from the heavy steel gauntlets, the thick metal of the torso continued to warp, a dent the size of a softball now present on either side of the metallic brown lump of dragon bone in its center. Every time his fingers brushed the core blindingly bright runes burst in his vision, searing themselves in his minds eye as the moonlight butterflies beam had.

An idea came to mind as they continued their onslaught. Reaching inward, Mike brushed his mind against the small spark fused with his soul.

 _Arching ceilings. Overly elaborate designs. Shining ebony stone discolored by built up dust and soot from a mere few weeks of disuse._

 _Irritation. Quelaag didn't want to clean the room, there were servants for such trivial things._

 _Ignition. Flame. White hot tongues of fire destroyed any and all impurities present on the fireproof walls, all as her sisters watched in awe._

Mike grimaced as his jump was thrown off by his - Quelaag's memories. Working in the moment, he grabbed a hold of the arm that'd intercepted his jump, pock marked from Logan's spells. Pulling at that warm, heavy feeling he'd felt in her memories, Mike pulled on the small power present in the fiery soul now his.

 _Fire._

It was now obvious why the sisters and witch mother needed no pyromancy tuned to work flame. They didn't merely manipulate it, they were it. Now, so was he, somewhat.

Laurentius paused in his flames as Mike's arms began to smolder, the skin turning from pale to pink, and then eventually red as he channeled the power of the chaos witches. Then, with a burst of magic that even Oscar could feel behind his shield, Mikes hands were fully encased in flame, _becoming_ flame. This was how the witches had proven such a powerful force. Even with only his arms in such a state, the heat from the flames began to turn the golems arm into a piece of white metal as he pulled himself along its length.

Confused by the sudden appearance of such a dangerous presence, the golem took a step back as Mike stuck his hands into his earlier formed divots in its chest, rivulets of molten metal sticking it's right arm in place.

With his hands firmly held around the core, Mike began to channel his remaining magic into the fire. Little less than a third of his energy remained, that amount crawling downward steadily as his arms continued to blaze. Symbols and lines blurred as they spun across his vision in a steady stream, present even when he blinked.

A single, shrieking groan made the warriors pause. Looking up, they found the golem to be holding a hand feet from Mike, the metal screaming in protest as it warped in ways it was never intended to, due to the hand prints welding it's joints together. A final jolt of movement placed the hand just inches from Mike, just as he popped from its chest like a cork, a lump of molten metal and cold bone held out in front of him.

"RUN!"

They didn't need to be told otherwise to know what was coming. The very building shook as the golems knees gave out, followed by its axe-wielding arm, burying the weapon a foot deep in the died of the building. Siegmeyer, to their surprise, sheathed his weapons in record time, racing faster than he was used to to the golem's chest.

Hnnnnnnga!" There was a groan of protest as the golem's descent slowed to a halt, before the phantom Tarkus took up a position next to Siegmeyer. In a display of sheer strength not likely present anywhere else in Lordran, they pushed the massive torso backwards, sending it crashing to the ground in a clash of metal that could be heard from Firelink shrine, where Griggs turned up at the sound to stare at the horizon.

"Ho-ly shit."

Mike broke the silence, causing all to turn to him. In his still burning arms was held the golem's core, small mechanical pieces twitching occasionally. Noticing the stares he was getting, noticeable from Logan and Laurentius, he extinguished his arms, setting the core down to cool as he did so.

"What." Logan started, only to be cut off by Laurentius.

"Was. That." The pyromacer was unusually reserved in his curiosity, with Logan, as they waited for an answer.

"The fire arms?" Mike asked. The two nodded.

"Your arms, they weren't covered in fire. They _were_ fire." Logan stated.

Mike nodded. "That was Quelaag's, now my soul. The soul is a reflection of the body, and vice versa, with an few exceptions. Humans actually have dark souls, with a bit of light soul to cover up their appearance, and similarly, whatever the chaos witches are called have souls of fire, like pyromancy flames, but that is covered up with a bit of light soul for appearance too. I just fueled the flame, and directed it to only my arms, so as to not burn out too fast. Theoretically the same could be done with dark, but to get a grasp on that without any outside help is a bit difficult. I tried."

Logan wrote the entire explanation down word for word as Mike talked, underlining a number of points through the text.

"Can I get a copy of that?" Laurentius muttered to his left, brushing Logan with his elbow. The sorcerer nodded almost imperceptibly, responding.

"Well talk later." Meanwhile, Mike tucked the golem core into his satchel, before turning to the axe buried in the building.

"Mike!" Siegmeyer called, similarly interested in the huge weapon. Near him, the gargoyles stood, bearing Lily and the snake caster. The small lizard delicately climbed onto his shoulder as he winced, both arms in quite a lot of pain, which estus did nothing to relieve. Another wince came about as he slung the lizard caster across his back again, before looking up to Siegmeyer.

"May I retrieve this weapon?" The onion knight inquired as he inspected the axe. Mike nodded, and instantly Siegmeyer hefted the axe from the building, effortlessly swinging the huge weapon onto his shoulder.

"This is wonderfully balanced!" Siegmeyer said with excitement as he spun, cleaving an invisible for in two.

"Its yours." Mike said. "There's also a ranged attack enchanted into it, if you know how to use that sort of thing."

Siegmeyer quieted, focusing. A moment later, he swung with a loud 'hya!' A clear blade of force successfully shot from the axe, exploding against the golems limp frame.

"Amazing." Siegmeyer said with more than a little excitement in his voice.

"Just wait, it gets better." Mike said as he looked through the rubble in the center of the arena. Eventually he came across a small bell made of shining gold, held inside a clear box to keep it from harm.

"EVERYONE GATHER 'ROUND." Mike blared, bringing the undead, and the gargoyles into a circle around him. A single ring of the bell sent a skill tinkling noise through the air, before fading.

"Just wait." Mike ordered. They waited. A golden glow began to appear, a ring of light expanding from the cup of the bell. From the size of a palm it grew, expanding rapidly to encase the group. The gargoyles chattered quietly between themselves in their own tongue as white shapes appeared above them.

"Don't worry." Mike soothed. "They're Anor London's way of getting us up there." Mike pointed up at the wall barely visible above them, so high up was it.

One by one they ascended, starting with Oscar, who was closest as the flying demons descended. Then went Ricard, then Solaire, Logan, Laurentius, Siegmeyer, the gargoyles, and finally, Mike were lifted.

They flew upward, more than one of them groaning as they looked down.

The base of the wall neared, and then they were at the polished stone, ascending rapidly.

A gasp. Then six more as they burst into the light. Laid out before them, the city of the gods was backdropped by the sun, outlining each white and gold building in high definition.

A single startled yell caught the attention of the others. Mikes eyes locked onto a billowing cloud of oily black smoke that hung lover the city, trailing back to the church the undead usually had to balance their way through.

As they watched, another puff of black smoke erupted from the building causing Mike to cry out again.

"Everyone stay here! Do _not_ follow me until that smoke stops!" Landing before the rest of them, Mike dropped Lily and the snake caster and bolted down the stairs, leaving the rest to look toward the black cloud in confusion as Mike's demon reeled back from the swift punch it had retrieved.

Lily snorted and climbed atop the snake caster, curling up on its chest and falling asleep.

Below, Mike's mind raced as he jumped over the railing, casting a powerful fall control spell as he plummeted over a hundred feet onto solid stone. He ignored the distance and ran up the railing nearby, a strangled cry echoing behind him.

Thinking quickly, Mike dove from above, his spell absorbing the fall as he pressed both hands to the painting burning under them. There was a bright burst of magic and he was gone, corpses of painting guardians if different stages of being burnt strewn around the room behind him.


	24. Chapter XXIV

**_I would like to blame school and my slow discord for this one. See ya next week._**

Mike swallowed dryly as he came to, a slight warmth present in his left side. When he cracked open his eyes to determine the source of that warmth, well, the yell he let out was loud, anyways. Being both human, and sane, his immediate reaction to the inky black fire merrily burning atop his left hand was to get up and shake the appendage wildly, yelling all the while.

Of course, as the painting was being consumed by dark flames around him, he almost instantly jolted downward as his right foot crunched through a board underfoot, the pieces falling into the pit below.

The painting was burning from the edges in.

Everywhere he turned, a wall of black fire seemed to be edging its way inward, chewing through airspace and land alike. As he watched, the edge of the land behind him began to crumble, snow vaporizing almost instantly at the touch of the fire.

"Oh shit!" Yanking his foot from the hole he'd made, Mike began hopping from plank to plank, hoping to outrun the inevitable fall of the bridge. Just as it began to sway and groan he found his footing in the snow, the cold wetness of it ignored for the moment.

The bodies burning to his sides, though still grotesque and disgusting smelling, were a mere nuisance as Mike hurried up the stairs, black flame ever nearing. For a moment, the painted world looked almost… normal, as normal as it usually was, anyway. Then the black fire in front of him began to burn away the right side of the island, destroying the location Jerimiah spawned in normally.

A cold pit of dread settled deep into the pit of his stomach as Mike thought of what Velka was doing here. Recruiting Priscilla? Killing off a potential threat? Whatever it was, it required the burning of a painting made of so much darkness it had physically hurt to enter, and likely would to leave.

Mike found himself to be the companion of a number of hollows running from the flames as he skittered up the stairs to the right, enemies an afterthought. The archer shot a single warped arrow in his direction as he ascended, only to fall to a hard, steel gauntleted punch to the face.

The bloated hollows were even more disgusting and gross in person. Easily, of the Dark Souls enemies, this one was the most worthy of being in Bloodborne. Two attempted pyromancies, only to be swept aside by a black flame burning on Mikes hand as he passed. The ignited enemies fell with little resistance, giving him souls as he bolted across the bridge outside.

The next room consisted of one quite similar to the depths, in that it contained a number of wooden tables scattered about, with the occasional enemy thrown in. These bloated hollows didn't even attempt resistance, and Mike soon found them following in his wake as he made a mad dash for the tower ahead.

To his right, cries of bird demons rang through the air like bells as he ran, slamming down the stairs three at a time. The low crackling of distant fires had become a cacophony of roaring flame, interspersed with the occasional screams of birds and gargled cries of hollows as they were consumed by the fire.

Mike froze as he exited the tower, his eyes locked on the bridge. More specifically, he stared in confusion at the empty spot where usually an undead dragon rested, not even the rear end present. Ten human sized gouges in the masonry at the far end were the only things directing him to the reason it was missing. There, where the tower at the end of the level usually resided, rose a column of darkness as far as the eye could see, and then some. Occasionally a piece of brown material would fly loose from the column – chips of dragon bone, if not entire segments, by the looks of some parts.

Mike erupted into a dead sprint as rubble shook the bridge behind him, the tower collapsing. By now the enemies had ceased almost entirely, most dead, or near it. Bloodshield fit nicely over his own grass crest one as he slid it over his shoulders, still running. Grabbing it had been risky, but the bonuses would likely be worth the risk.

Just as quickly as he had begun, he came too a halt, sliding over the icy ground on the soles of his feet. Perched at the edge of the bridge, Mike looked down slowly, casting a fall control as he did so. As he had presumed, the heavy knight below him was dead, captured by Velka, or otherwise preoccupied elsewhere. Either way, it gave him an opening to jump, and jump he did.

 **"Hm."** Mike tensed as a heavy voice echoed around him, its source directly ahead. **"You're either stupid, to a degree I have never observed in a human, or you believe you have some sort of trick with which to deceive me. That, or you come to beg my pardon. Which may it be?"**

Mike snorted. This goddess and Yzma would get along. Hell, they might well be sisters, with the way she looked when he entered. Cloaked in a black robe that seemed to move around her, Velka had bleached white skin and a freakishly thin frame, so thin that she didn't even look human, standing tall at what looked to be nearly seven feet high, and less than two feet in width, at best. Aside from her skin, everything was black as night on her, nails, hair, even her eyes were onyx in color.

"A little stupid, no need to beg for pardoning, and honestly, I don't think I could deceive you." Mike paused. "To be perfectly honest, I'm more than a little terrified right now, and would like to just get my happy ass out of here, but we both know that's not happening."

 **"Oh? I am surprised, that you think you can challenge me."** Velka moved toward Mike, seemingly gliding across the ground without moving more than her neck. Her brows furrowed as she moved slowly in a circle around him, the aura of dark she exuded cold and harsh, so unlike humanities.

 **"Not particularly strong, magically or otherwise, and I do not recall you traveling with anyone of enough strength to escape my best binds. I suppose it can be chalked up as a bad test run, therefore another must be preformed!"** Mikes face fell into an irritated look as Velka twisted a hand, the only other movement she had made since he'd arrived.

Two black vines as thick as his arms shot down from above, clamping his arms to his sides in a manner of seconds before lifting him from the floor. Mike maintained a bored look throughout this, even as Velka turned her attention upward.

 _Seconds prior._

Mike glanced at the ceiling as soon as he had taken in the circular room in full, looking for the source of the dragon bones. Soon he found what he was looking for. Far above, roughly three stories up hung the ancient dragon within a mass of dark so large it could've been its own Abyss, spinning and clawing wildly at the air.

Mike's look hardened as he noticed two other figures, one small, one only barely larger than the first. That was slightly problematic. The smaller of the two hung limply, while the other stared down with wide eyes. Mike dulled his features, and turned to Velka as she spun to face him.

 _Present._

A sigh escaped Mike's lips as Velka raised him two stories, to the same height Priscilla and Jeremiah hung at. The crossbreed writhed wildly in her bonds, while the human looked to be asleep, his normally large headgear limp and slightly burnt.

 **"I suppose you, like a good hero, must bombard me with annoying questions I shouldn't rightly answer, is that the way it goes in your head?"** Velka leered down at him from where she stood near Priscilla, who's eyes widened as she neared. Now that he was close, Mike could spot a bright red mark in the crossbreed's right shoulder, both of which were exposed, for whatever reason.

Five lines came together into a vaguely hand shaped impression in her skin, which had turned a bright crimson around the injury. Mike fumed at the idea of what Velka had done to her as the goddess slid towards her once again. Mentally, he checked his emotions as she reached out her left hand this time, pressing her palm into the skin around Priscilla's collarbone. Only a few more minutes…

Priscilla began to scream through the mass of dark wrapped tightly over her mouth. Mike continued to focus intensely as her screams grew louder, until eventually, they came. Mike froze as tiny, crystalline tears began to spill out from Priscilla's golden eyes, the large orbs pleadingly locked onto him. Black smoke wafted from her skin as Velka grinned, her smile revealing a number of pointed white teeth behind pale, drawn lips.

"Her soul, is it?" Mike said lowly. Not relenting in the pain she was causing, Velka turned her vicious grin to Mike.

 **"She contains that which is mine, and refuses to give it up, even after I asked nicely. Now, she must be punished."** Mike frowned.

"That's twisted. She's lived here, alone, for what must've been hundreds, if not thousands of years, and your first thought is to come and ask for her soul?" Mike paused to take a deep breath. "And really, your own daughter? Hot damn, you are a twisted goddess. Can I at least get some motives for all of this?" Mike jerked his head around to indicate the burning painting.

 **"Hm…"** An intrigued looks came over Velka's face, and Mike was careful to notice the slight tightening of the dark vortex around them. **"If I must wait for her to break, and you are trapped as such… I suppose there is no harm to it, and watching that confident grin fail will be priceless."** Velka paused, likely for dramatic timing, or some such.

 **"Long, long ago, I and Gwyn, he who you know as the god of light, were married."** The last word came out in a slightly disgusted tone. **"Put simply, I thought him a dark fearing fool when the flame began to fade, and he thought me a mere tool, to be aimed at his enemies and nothing more.**

 **When he inevitably sacrificed himself, I was there, a hopeful youth wanting to harness some of the flames power for my own."**

"Ha!" Mike interrupted. "Even I know that's stupid plan!"

 **"SILENCE!"** Velka roared, a black mass slamming over Mike's mouth. She continued. **"I was weak, but smart enough to not be killed for my foolishness. The flame was far too strong for my to control, and I became seriously injured in that time. When the others flourished in the newly brightened world, I discovered the great dark lurking in the shadows, and embraced it."**

"Mmmp! Mmm- ack!" Mike coughed as the dark left his mouth. "Eugh! So you just want to take the first flame as your own, but you near a compliant undead to open the kiln for you, due to Gwyn's protections."

A small grin crept over Mike's face, despite the soft whimpering of Priscilla nearby. The grin twisted into a sneer as he began to spread his arms, pressing against his restraints.

"All of this time, and you can't get past Gwyn's barriers. Barely ten minutes, and I can get past yours." Velka cast a cursory glance at her ropes of dark, still tied tightly around him.

 **"You speak falsehoods. Your binds are still perfect-"**

Crack!

Velka froze, turning to stare at a rope on Mikes right hand. As she watched, he twisted his fingers, wrapping them around the next one. This he ripped like the first, and following those, one by one the ropes binding his arms fell apart under his hands, until he was left standing on a black floor. Before he could be dropped, he jumped onto a window like structure in the stone, holding a column for support.

Velka glared as she hurled another set of ropes at him, these far larger than before. Unlike the previous, these didn't even touch him before Mike waved a palm, causing the ropes to deform, before they returned to the large mass hovering above them.

 **"How?!"**

"Velka, please." Mike said as he began climbing toward Priscilla. "I believe it was something along the lines of: I suppose you, like a good villain, must bombard me with annoying questions I shouldn't rightly answer, is that the way it goes in your head?" The witch stared in slight shock as Mike brushed a hand against her binds of darkness, dispersing them instantly. After lightly catching the shocked crossbreed, he did the same to Jeremiah, slinging the pyromacer over his shoulder as Priscilla clung to his robes.

 **"Hmpf. You can't even escape, what point do you have in doing this?"** For emphasis, Velka spread her arms, showing off the walls of dark around them.

"Again." Mike said slowly. "I. Do. Not. Need. To. Answer. Fuck you, goodbye!" In a surprising twist, Mike slammed a palm into his chest, casting an unexpected pyromancy. From the spot he touched, cold iron grew to cover his body, increasing his weight by a disgusting amount. With iron flesh active, he cheekily waved, before stepping forward, right off of the platform. Velka watched them go with an irritated, and mildly confused look. She had been mostly done with her fool child anyway, and watching them splat against the stone would be amusing.

Mike had nothing of the sort planned. A grin made its way onto his face as he placed a finger to Priscilla's lips, stopping her before she could yell.

"Trust me." And Priscilla did. Ten, then twenty feet passed. They braced…

A resounding crack exploded throughout the dark cylinder, caused by the floor it had once had. Where the stone was now was a jagged hole, car sized shards collapsing like dominoes as Mike rocketed through them, retrieved prisoners in hand.

A single, final thing awaited them, the transition. As they fell, flame swallowed the world above them, blotting out the light. In total darkness, they waited.

* * *

Siegmeyer, Oscar, Solaire, Laurentius, Logan, Ricard, and the two gargoyles waited with bated breath on the bottom floor of the cathedral. Even Logan had been unable to drop so far without at least a number of broken bones, at worst a death from the enemies. The group had been forced to wait as Oscar precariously balanced across the ceiling, before lowering the bridge on the far side.

Logan muttered to himself as he paced before the burning painting, wary of the dark. Occasionally a hand reached up to hover near its surface, the dark magic there too strong for his liking. Nothing they had tried had put out the flame, not even Siegmeyer's best frying pan, which he had sacrificed trying to fix the painting.

Laurentius tried meditating nearby, to no avail. He chewed the tips of his fingers nervously, eying the alluring black fire with measured looks every so often.

Oscar meticulously polished his armor and weapons, thinking intensely.

Ricard waited patiently nearby, certain that someone would think of a solution.

The gargoyles had no clue what was going on, and just kind of admired all the shiny things in the cathedral. One had a crystal from the chandelier in its hands and was trying to show its partner eagerly.

Logan paused as the magic suddenly pulsed under his hand, almost physically pressing the painting onto him. The sorcerer scrambled back wildly as the fluctuation occurred again, this time sending a fog of black into the air. The fog grew exponentially, until every person in the cathedral knew of its presence.

Then it vanished, in a puff of black flame that heated the room well over a comfortable temperature.

"No!" Logan gasped when he turned back to the painting. Whatever had emerged from it had hastened the burning, and as he tried to grab a hold of it, the last tiny flame flickered out, and the painting was no more.


	25. Chapter XXV

_**Sorry about the lateness. Next week will be on time.**_

"…hello?"

Mike mumbled to himself and turned to his left, ignoring the hazy voice at the edge of his hearing. A low groan escaped him as the voice grew sharper, defined.,

"Sir? Sir!"

"Schtop." Mike ran a gauntleted hand over his forehead, trying to push away the pounding in his skull.

"Please… -sleep for hours." Mike jerked up as the voice came into focus suddenly, like a radio being set to the correct station.

"Huh? What?" His head swiveled in a circle as he took in his surroundings, or better put, the lack thereof. Surrounding him was absolute dark, not even outlines of Priscilla and Jeremiah visible.

"Thou'rt awake!" Mike turned to his left as a clear voice rang from the darkness, echoing once before fading.

"I am. I take it we haven't returned to Lordran yet?" Mike asked as he scratched an itch on his neck. He cut off Priscilla's response with a loud curse, a sharp pain having just spiked up his left arm.

"Art thou injured?" Came a concerned voice from the darkness. He nodded, before realizing she probably couldn't see him either.

"Yeah, Velka's fire kind of stuck to my hand, and seems to be still burning." Mike carefully felt around the ruined lump of slag attached to the end of his left hand, the remains of a! steel gauntlet there. It had been the cause of his pain, still flickering with small specks of dark flame around the rough edges. As hard as he tried, he just didn't seem to be able to fully grasp the fire with his pyromancy to put it out, unfortunately enough.

"Oh! Pardon my lofty speak, I hadn't realized Lower Londish had grown popular among humans. Is there something I could do to help?" Mike shook his head instinctively, before realizing he'd made the same mistake a second time.

"No, my gauntlet melted all over my hand, and is also on fire. If you could give me a minute to-"

Mike paused, an idea popping into his head. Had he a working left hand, he likely would've facepalmed from the sheer idiocy of his mistake.

"Hello? Sir undead?" Priscilla asked into the sudden vacuum of sound.

"Still here, just realized I'm an idiot is all." Priscilla flinched back as there was a sudden burst of light in front of here, held aloft in Mike's right hand. When her eyes adjusted, she realized two things at once. First, the undead in front of her had a large scar running up the left side of his face, and second, that she was naked, her fur coat gone.

"Oh. Right." Mike turned red and turned away from Priscilla hastily, wiping the indecent image of her from his mind. Similarly, Priscilla became a dark shade of crimson, a small peep escaping her as she covered herself with her hands.

"Sorry!" Mike said over his shoulder. After rummaging around his bag for a bit, he pulled out a pair of loose bandit leggings, and a female styled pyromancers shirt.

"Here, they should be clean." Mike held the clothes over his shoulder, until Priscilla carefully took them from him. Unused to garments not her own, Priscilla required a bit more time than she would've liked to put on the clothing, but had to admit it was comforting to be covered when she was finished changing.

"I am covered." Mike turned and faced her finally when she said that, nodding his approval. "Might I, however, ask a single question before you go on?"

"Sure." Mike shrugged.

"That scar on your face, what did that?" Mikes brows rose sharply.

Priscilla looked confused for a second, before a horrified look dawned on her face as she realized what she had said. "I- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to- I was going to ask-"

Mike cut her off with a wave of his left hand, eliciting a wince from him.

"Don't worry about it, I didn't even feel it when I got it. A hollow knocked me into Blighttown, and my face got quite intimate with a pillar on the way down. A whole lot of other stuff happened, but that's neither here nor there." Again, he lifted his left hand, this time along with his right.

"First, could you give me a hand with this." He nodded at the gnarled mass of steel on his hand. "Grab my gauntlet and see if you can't pull that off while I heat it with pyromancy."

"But, if you're heating it, your hand-"

"Psh, don't worry about that. I've been caught on fire three or four times now, and have a naturally good resistance to it. Just pull when I say." Priscilla swallowed, but tugged the good gauntlet off anyway. Her hand was just small enough to fit it, the glove a little stiff on her.

With his free hand, Mike began twisting fire to his will, forming a ball the size of an egg in his palm. A look of intense concentration came over his face as he then imagined the flame curling in on itself, thinning and elongating in the process. As he thought it, so did the fire react, becoming like a long candle flame in front of him. It also dimmed somewhat in the process, the light unnecessary energy use.

"All right. Niiice and slow…" Mike gently applied the fire, now roaring like a mini jet engine, to his palm, sparks flying instantly as it connected. Priscilla winced, but to her credit, did not jerk away at their presence.

A sudden pained look crossed Mike's face, before he tamped it down into a neutral one. "Priscilla." He grit out a moment later. "Open my satchel, and grab the estus inside. I'll need you to hold it up for me, so I don't do any permanent damage to my hand."

Note: Just finished the best book ever, Terminal, between typing sessions, and I just had to say, it was well worth waiting ten years to read.

Priscilla did as instructed gently, pulling herself around Mike, or vice versa, to access the leather bag hanging at his side. Within she pulled a heavy flask full to the brim with golden liquid that emanated heat, much to her surprise. She had seen undead use such flasks before, but had never held one. For a few brief moments, she wondered what it tasted like, just before a horrible scent filled the air.

Mike noticed Priscilla's look of revulsion as she pulled herself back around to face him once again. "Sorry, flame just bit my skin."

"Oh! Here, I got the estus." Priscilla was about to hand him the estus when she realized her mistake.

"I uh, can't hold that." Mike deadpanned. "Mind giving me some?" Priscilla obliged him seriously, carefully pouring a small trickle of estus into his mouth every so often, usually when he began to grimace and/or smoke filled the air.

It was in this way that time passed, both of them simply waiting to be spat back out in reality, wit Jeremiah weightlessly floating nearby. Bit by bit, Mike cut through the warped gauntlet, forming a line from the side of his wrist and up along his fingers, before crossing over them to pass back down to the other side of his hand.

In seemingly no time at all, the gauntlet had almost been completely cut in half, the seam glowing red-orange where it had been recently heated. Mike grinned widely as he finished melting the metal just above his wrist, accidentally burning himself a little in the process.

"Alright." He began, as he changed his fire from a blowtorch to a candle light. "Priscilla, see if you can find a left hand gauntlet for yourself in my bag, and then I'll need you to pry this thing apart." He waved around the twisted mass of metal on his hand loosely.

When Priscilla had retrieved a slightly cracked Balder gauntlet from his bag, they began the removal of the gauntlet.

"Right here?" Priscilla asked as she carefully poked her metal clad fingers into the seam between the gauntlet and his hand. Mike nudged her hand a little left, giving her a little more leverage when she pulled.

"Alright." Mike took a deep, slow great to prepare himself. "Do it."

Have you ever chipped a nail, or maybe scraped a finger or toe on some blunt object, and felt the pain of your skin tearing in large sections? This was what it felt like to Mike, as the gauntlet pulled from his hand. The scarred skin must've stuck to the metal when it melted, and he was forced to simply grit his teeth in pain as the metal was removed.

Priscilla, to her benefit, was focused entirely on the hand, and went unnoticing of his pain. When Velka had stolen some of her soul, so to had her strength as a larger being diminished. To her credit, she still gripped the gauntlet in a steel vice, her face reddening as she pried the ends apart.

"Ok, that should be good." Mike said through the burning pain on his hand. Before it could begin bleeding, he tilted his head back and let Priscilla pour in a little more estus, which healed the skin instantly.

"Now, just pull. If I scream, pull. If I tell you to stop, pull. Just get the gauntlet off." Priscilla nodded resolutely.

"I will." Priscilla again grabbed a hold of the warped metal, her palms sweaty as she braced herself against his upper arm. "I'll pull it off in three, two-"

"AaaaAAAAAAH. HOLY FUCK THAT STINGS."

"Sorry…" Priscilla said suddenly having shot a few feet away. In her hands, the melted gauntlet flickered as the flame was jerked around.

Priscilla had yanked fiercely a few seconds prior to her warning, ripping the gauntlet away instantly. Now she floated back to Mike with a sorry look on her face, before handing him the estus to drink.

"Ok, I take it back. Lego's are still fucking worse than this, but hoooooly shit. Definitely got to invent a fireproofing enchantment eventually." Mike sighed. "Break time now. Let me see that gauntlet, and give me a minute to chill."

Mike took a long, drawn out few moments to stare at the darkness around them. "I've also been thinking, and I don't think well be spat out in Lordran." He said slowly. Priscilla looked at him in confusion as he went on. "Velka was burning the painting on the outside world too, not just in there. If, presumably, it is the 'doorway' there, then its been shut, locked, and plastered over, assuming my companions couldn't put out the fire."

A small gasp escaped Priscilla.

"Yep. We're stuck in limbo."

Mike paused as she went quiet. When he glanced back at her, she was staring at her hand as though it had just talked to her.

"Hello?" Mike waved a hand in front of her. "Anyone home?"

"I- I touched you…" She said softly, pausing to glance back up at him.

"Huh." Mike scratched his head. "Haven't been told that by a girl in a while. Mind elaborating?"

Priscilla looked from her hand, back to him, and then back to her hand once again. "I- ever since I was born, the power of Lifedrain has pervaded my being, killing any and all whom I come into contact to."

Understanding dawned on Mike's face. "Velka." Priscilla jerked her head up. "She must have taken it!" His newly regenerated hand smacked his forehead, sending a small jitter of pain up his arm.

"But why would she…?" Priscilla petered off as Mike thrust something out towards her, black and flickering in his palm.

"This is a twin humanity." Mike explained, gently letting the warm sprites float around his palm. "Now, this might be a liiitle unnerving to hear, but in the very few timelines where an undead, usually horrifically malign, has, um… killed other yous-"

Priscilla inhaled sharply .

"Sorry. Its quite unnerving to hear, I know. Anyway, those Priscilla's usually leave twin humanities like this one." Mike waved around the sprite. "And I would bet that is whatever soul Velka extracted from you, likely some of hers. It fits, Life steal being maybe part of the Soul of Sin, or whatever she has that let's her govern that."

Priscilla nodded along with Mike as he spoke, her hair bobbing with every movement. "That… actually makes sense." She admitted slowly. "I had always thought, that maybe I was larger because of my heritage, but it seems it was her soul inside of me…"

Priscilla heaved a large sigh, looking down at her feet.

"So, its all gone then? Forever?" Mike was confused for a few moments, until she despondently looked upwards, where they'd fallen from.

"…Yeah." Mike nodded. "It was about a third gone when I entered, and easily three fourths by the time I got to you and Jeremiah. If there's anything left, its whatever fell into here, wherever here is."

"Well, it's a bit late, but thanks. For everything you've done for me and Mr. Jeremiah." Mike jerked back as Priscilla kicked herself forward, wrapping him in a large hug. He returned the gesture in full, and they stayed like that, floating in nowhere, with no one looking on.


	26. Chapter XXVI

**_STILL WEDNESDAY._** ** _By the way, if you notice 'www' in my chapters, its because I write in word and forget to change those to line breaks sometimes. Notify me if you see one. Anyway, throw me a review if you're feeling especially nice, it makes me feel warm and fuzzy, like wine does. 3 wine._**

Mike snapped his left eyelid open as something bumped into him, Priscilla jerking away from the object with a start.

"Really? Kind of a personal thing we have going on here." Mike said to the limp body drifting lightly next to them. Despite the amused smile on his face, worry flashed in his eyes as he took a closer look at the pyromacer in yellow.

Priscilla detached from him with a slight push, maneuvering to the top of his body. Though a little scorched, Jeremiahs headpiece was surprisingly intact, coming off with little resistance. Priscilla's brows knit together as she looked his face and arms over, concern on her face.

"I don't understand." She finally voiced. "He doesn't even have any injuries, and all of his vital signs are perfect." Eventually she turned to Mike, who was inspecting the pyromacer from afar. "What could be wrong with him?" Her voice cracked towards the end, and she turned away as a few tears slipped from the corners of her eyes. Obviously, the two had some sort of personal connection.

"Let me take a look." Mike pushed forward, spinning Jeremiah around to face him with a twist of his wrist. Slowly, meticulously, Mike inspected him from his feet upward, each bit of skin scoured for markings of injury or magic.

Mikes flat lips began to curve downward as he approached the middle aged man's neck, with nothing to show for it except for the red eye orb in his left pocket, which had miraculously stayed there since he'd been taken out.

"This doesn't make sense." Mike stated when he was finished. Priscilla nervously twined a lock of hair around a finger as she watched him twist and turn Jeremiah's head, going as far as to pick through his cropped red hair. As with his beard and face, there was no sign of anything out of the ordinary.

"As far as I can tell, there is absolutely nothing wrong with him." Mike turned to Priscilla. "What did Velka do to him?"

Priscilla closed her eyes, thinking back. "Well… I remember him coming in much like you did, except he fell to her dark binds quicker." She winced suddenly, placing a hand to her head. "Then… I think she touched his forehead, or something like that, and he stopped fighting back."

Mike frowned and placed a hand on Jeremiah's forehead, thinking.

"Ah! What the fuck?!" Mike jolted back as a fiery orange spark stung his hand, burning a red welt onto his palm. He and Priscilla looked in shock at the unconscious pyromacer drifting limply, startled.

"Oh shit."

Priscilla turned to Mike, who held his hand, unfortunately his left one, up in the… air? Wherever they were. The red welt hadn't stayed so for long, already it had swollen to nearly twice its original size, and seemed to be heating up exponentially.

"Somebody's been playing with chaos." Mike said in a singsong voice as he dug around in his satchel. With his good hand he drew a dagger from within, its edge sharp. Before Priscilla could voice complaint, his hand fell fast and true, carving the growing mutation from his skin at once. The force of the swipe sent it spinning downward, the bubbling ceased.

"You- he-" Priscilla stuttered, her eyes flicking back and forth between Mike and Jeremiah. A pale hand stretched toward Jeremiah slowly, before she withdrew it in fear as another spark shot from him.

Mike, unperturbed by the tiny amount of chaos in the sparks reached inside of himself, feeling for the small soul he'd stolen from Quelaag. A burst of light signaled the transformation of his arms into flame.

"Long story short, I stole part of Quelaag's soul. Give me a moment to see what's up with the chaos." Mike kicked forward through the dark as he spoke, his arms outstretched. Just before he bumped into Jeremiah he stopped himself, wrapping his legs around the man's exposed torso to keep him in place as he worked.

With both palms safer from chaos, Mike carefully held them to the sides of Jeremiah's head, millimeters from his ears. A deep breath, then two. Mike felt around for his magic, and pushed into the other man's head.

Mike was almost happy for the cheerful glow that surrounded him when he opened his eyes in the astral plane. That was what he called it, anyway. Laurentius had shown him how to enter and maneuver there after giving him tattoos so long ago.

As it turned out, Jeremiah might well have crawled from the center of Izalith, as overtaken as his soul was. Looking at himself, Mike found a splotch of dark ringed in light, much like a giants soul, with a number of small bits amalgated onto it. On one side, Quelaag's soul, a tiny speck compared to the whole, fused directly onto the main mass. On the other side, a small flame was delicately anchored a distance from the main soul, this being his pyromancy flame.

Jeremiah's soul was to his as a cancer is to a diamond. Admittedly, the sheer size of the soul was great, towering above his own, yet despite its great size enormous chunks were twisted and warped, like giant orange sponges as they burned and churned. Occasionally a fiber of chaos would connect with an untouched piece of human soul, and there a great bolt of orange light would appear, the source of the sparks.

Finally, Mike let himself return to his body. In the blink of an eye his view changed, and Priscilla was next to him, looking quite concerned.

"Well?" She asked nervously, hopefully.

Mike shook his head sorrowfully. "Well, the chaos hasn't taken him, but I still don't know why he isn't awake. There were no visual issues with his soul, so unless Velka braved the chaos, then we're just going to have to deal with him as he is. Perhaps Logan or Laurentius – a legendary sorcerer and slightly less legendary pyromancer – might be able to help. First though, we have to get back, and I think I know how."

* * *

"This, is a soapstone." Mike held aloft his white stone. "When you hold these, you can see the marks from them in other worlds. It may be a long shot, but if I was to, say, touch it-"

Mike stuttered to a stop as his bare left hand came into contact with the stone. As Priscilla looked on, his eyes grew glossy and unfocused, flicking back and forth every few seconds as he stared into the dark.

"Yeah." Mike said suddenly, his eyes snapping into focus. "You ought to see this." With one hand around it, Mike extended the soapstone to Priscilla. Her next breath caught in her throat as a flash of light burst in front of her, illuminating their surroundings.

"Wha… how?" Priscilla articulated slowly, each syllable drawn out.

"My working thesis is that the soapstone sort of… focuses the connection to other worlds 'near,' or similar to ours. That's why you don't see summoning signs or messages without one." Mike said this as he spun in place, observing their findings.

It was like being in the center of a fair, if he had to associate the light with anything. Around the pair, tens, maybe hundreds of discs of light seemed to hover in the darkness like stars, each one holding a seemingly still image on its surface, off recognizable. Most seemed to be views of the cathedral in which the painting had once been, save for three directly under them.

The first held an image of the cathedral, except it was different. Still intact. At the far end of the hall, the painting was still there, and in between a few dozen painting guardians stood almost still, save for their breathing. Priscilla felt her heartstrings tug as she saw the painting from the outside for the first time I n centuries, this one not even hers.

The second image was one Priscilla didn't understand. A small village ringed by grey cliffs seemed to be on fire, buildings crumbling as their supports burned. She moved on from this one quicker than the last.

"Hey!" Mike exclaimed when he saw the final image. It showed the cathedral, but from the side of the painting. There, calmly waiting for them to arrive, were none other than his companions, including Lily and the gargoyles. Oscar and Solaire sparred rapidly at one end of the room, both fairly evenly matched. Siegmeyer looked to be calmly pacing between two pillars, while his gargoyles trailed behind him carrying Mike's bound lizard.

Lily seemed to be curled up on the floor directly in front of the image, and near her was, surprisingly, Laurentius and Logan, their mouths moving rapidly. The two looked locked into conversation, heatedly passing words back and forth.

"Well, now we know where we're going. I say we should start that way, grab on." Mike extended a hand to Priscilla as he removed a piece of cloth from his satchel, which turned out to be a pair of discarded grey pants. A quick twist tied the makeshift rope around Jeremiah's ankles, and so they began to move.

Quick bursts of flame from his hands pulled he and Priscilla along, descending at a leisurely pace towards the world. Minutes turned into almost an hour as they continued to gain speed, eventually going so fast that new worlds began to appear around them. However, they kept their eyes locked onto their own, never deviating ion course to it.

"Priscilla, brace yourself!" Mike shouted as they neared. The world had grown from e size of a palm to nearly as large as a football field in front of them, glowing brightly. Like ants to sugar they moved, rocketing directly toward the wall of light.

To an outside observer, the three would've simply disappeared upon touching the world, not a sign of them left in the abyss.

* * *

"Are we… there?" Slowly asked Priscilla, who had been deposited next to him and Jeremiah. Mike looked around them slowly, taking in everything, before shaking his head.

They had been placed in the cathedral, that was for certain. What wasn't for certain was the state of their surroundings, or more likely, them. Occasionally while walking, the floor would just not work, and instead act as pudding for a few paces. For Jeremiah, it seemed gravity itself didn't exist, and he simply continued to hover around them.

"…perception!" Mike suddenly shouted from hear the painting. Where she was observing Oscar, Priscilla almost fell through the floor when she jumped, landing on a rubbery spot.

"Its our perception of things!" Mike explained as he bounded over, his feet encountering no softness in the ground. "That's why Jeremiah isn't being held down, and sometimes the floor forgets to floor."

Priscilla made the connection. "So if we were to perceive ourselves as being there…"

"What?" Mike frowned. "Maybe? I don't particularly think so, I would assume rips in space take a bit more than believing, but I suppose its worth a try."

Both of them stood there for a few seconds, intensely focusing on being real.

"Nope." Mike shrugged when his left foot began to sink into the floor. "It was a good idea though." Priscilla nodded, and followed Mike's example as he dropped into a cross legged position. In one hand he held the soapstone, focusing the world, in the other, his pyromancy flame. It was then that an idea came to him.

"Hey wait!" Mike yelled suddenly, startling Priscilla and himself as his voice echoed around them oddly, the pitch changing as it passed through half substantial walls. After realizing the ensuing sounds were his voice, Mike began to stuff his arm into his bottomless box, assembling a handful of items in front of him as they were removed one by one.

From left to right, in a semicircle sat five items. To Priscilla's surprise, the first was the still smoldering gauntlet remnants, which seemed to bend the floor under it in unusual ways. Following were a small pool of humanity sprites, writhing and twirling through the abyss. After that came the soapstone, a chunk of wood that Priscilla didn't recognize, and Mikes own staff. Altogether, the odd assortment of items seemed to be themed around dark and magic, both of which made her shudder slightly as she thought back to a few hours, or days, or however long ago it'd been she had encountered Velka.

"I don't understand." Priscilla said as she examined the items. Mike was forced to suppress a small smile as he noticed the deep furrow in her scaled brow, along with the slight twitch of her tail as she passed over the gauntlet.

"Well, let's start with the gauntlet, and the humanity." Mike picked each item up, to Priscilla's surprise, and assumed a scholarly air. "Earlier, I found myself troubled when I tried bending the dark flame to my will, much like I do with pyromancy. This confused me because humans inherently have dark souls, with a little light to make us look like the gods."

With his right hand, Mike held aloft a humanity. "It's taken me a bit, but I have a running hypothesis that when we use a humanity, it reinforces the darkness in us, forcing our bodies into an 'unharmed' state, healing us. This kind of confused me a little, but after taking a peek at Jeremiah I think what the darkness does when it enters our souls is poke a tiny hole in the light part, which is kind of like a shell, not letting the dark show."

Priscilla nodded slowly as he talked, her golden eyes flicking between the humanities and Mike. "So… you couldn't control the dark, because you didn't have any way to channel it. Like how you require a pyromancy flame to manipulate fire, excepting flame sorcery."

Mike nodded, before raising the gauntlet remains. "Exactly! This, however, gives me a non-humanity source of dark, a form of it I'm not used to. If I had to guess, subjecting myself to it while simultaneously absorbing a bunch of humanities to strengthen my dark soul might allow me to squeeze a little more dark from my soul, and allow me to manipulate it properly."

"That… is quite complicated." Priscilla conceded after a time. "But why do this? I understand… mother uses the dark, do you plan on using her own magic against her?"

Mike snorted. "Nah. I was actually working toward a second theory. See, generally when darkness is encountered, time and/or space seems to kind of not do what it should. For example, the painting using a dark based pigment of questionable origin to sustain an entire world and its gateway. I also think Gwyndolin uses it, but that's off topic. With dark, I might be able to create a small hole into reality-" He waved to the space around them, where the others continued to wander and wait aimlessly. "This reality."

A look of understanding dawned on Priscilla's face. "I see! That would explain mothers ability to move between places-"

"Teleport."

"-yes, that!" Priscilla perked up significantly as the connections formed in her head. "Certainly, it would take a great deal of magic, but I could provide you with this-"

"Awesome." Mike nodded. Magic sickness sucked.

Priscilla paused, a hand in the air. "But what about directing it?" she questioned.

"Exactly like other magics." Mike explained. "This one is easy. Directing dark magic is just like light, hexes and pyromancies alike. Of course, it'll be a few millennia before anyone invents dark miracles, which are basically just hexes, and dark fire and magic are basically light, but presumably with different runes. Directing it should be relatively simple."

"Well then, we've got what we need, right?" Priscilla asked. When mike nodded, she jumped to her feet, only to realize they were working off the floor.

"So let's get started!"


	27. Chapter XXVII

_**This is early because its my friend Lucian Purea's birthday. Have a good day, and review to make me feel good!**_

Priscilla let out an involuntary gasp as Mike bent over, convulsing. Small bursts of air entered and escaped his lungs as he clenched a hand over his chest, the normally warm, smooth feeling of dark exchanged for a burning heat not unlike the time he had welded in a thin shirt, burning himself.

"No, no." A hand stopped Priscilla's approach, before pointing down at the humanities. "…give."

Priscilla obeyed instantly. Taking five of the sprites at a time into her hands. Curled in on himself in pain, Mike simply crushed them into his side at a rapid pace, each seemingly driving the pain further. Despite all of this, his right hand never left the gauntlet in front of him, where the dark flame flickered and wavered, slowly moving in his direction.

Priscilla frowned when the humanities ran out, and Mike showed no sign of completion. His right hand had clenched over the gauntlet so hard it had been cut, numerous sharp edges digging into his skin easily.

"Ah!" Mike yelled, his head jerking upward. A sheen of sweat slicked his skin, and his left eye flickered eerily, only half in the astral plane.

"Almost… got it!" Mike ground out as he pressed his hand harder into the dark flame. As the small tongues of fire came into contact with his skin they were seemingly vacuumed into him, disappearing with slight pops. Each one seemed to strain Mike further, until his muscles and veins stood out under his skin.

"Priscilla!" She jumped as her name was called out, instantly facing Mike. "Hit… my back!" Mike commanded after a moment, his mouth the only part of him still in motion. Even his breathing had ceased, such was the tension in him. Priscilla warily circled around him, unsure of how exactly to hit him, or why. As he was, a single tap might well shatter him.

"Now!" Priscilla reacted quickly. Her fist shot forward with as much force as she could put behind it, though her face betrayed her uncertainty.

 _Crack!_

Mikes back arced under her fist, an unnerving echo rebounding off the walls around them. Mike let out a hoarse yell as he lurched forward, bent around Priscilla's fist.

"Mike!" Priscilla jerked toward him, arms outstretched. He collapsed back onto her when she pulled on his shoulders, falling limp in her lap.

Panting heavily, Mike lazily looked up at the arched ceiling above them, his vision half obscured by Priscilla, and the pyromancers clothing she wore. Somewhere in his mind he could tell she was talking, asking if he was ok, but he couldn't properly respond, words coming out as slurred sounds.

Casually, Mike noted a particular sharpness that'd come to his companions walking around them. Near to Laurentius and Logan, their clothing and appearances had become clearer, and he could now look at them without seeing the far wall through them.

Mikes eyes opened sharply as hot liquid entered his mouth, burning down his throat. Priscilla had located the estus, and once again Mike found himself healed from the effects of dark by Priscilla.

"Agh!" He coughed, rolling to the side. He hit the floor with a dull thump, sending another throbbing pain through his head. "That was uncomfortable." He stated plainly as he sat up.

Priscilla, still concerned, allowed some small amount of excitement through. "So it was successful?" She asked quickly, moving forward to where Mike sat.

"Yep." Mike confirmed. He brought up a hand and focused on it, brows coming together as he focused. Much like his pyromancy had started, a single black spark kept from his palm, before growing to become a tiny tongue of black flame. Further force turned that into a ball of fire roughly the size of a golf ball, before he ran out of magic and had to drop the flame.

"So now what?" Priscilla asked, warily eying the flame. Logic told her it was safe. The hot red marks on her collarbone told her otherwise.

"I have absolutely no idea." Mike stated plainly, much to her shock. When he saw the confused look on her face he shrugged. "Now I'm just going to throw around a bit of dark and see what I can get happening. _Theoretically_ , I can replicate one of the feats of the first dark lord, except smaller and in space, not time."

"I…" Priscilla trailed off slowly, processing. "Never mind. I'm certain I'll find out eventually."

"Yup." Mike confirmed. "It'll be a hot minute before I have full magic, then we'll get to experimenting."

"And I've my magic, little as it is, if that would help." Mike nodded, a thoughtful look on his face as she said that. As he waited for his magic to peak, he pulled a pair of items from his satchel. A quick flick of the wrist lobbed them at Priscilla, who caught them easily.

"Heavy soul arrow and a staff, do you know how to cast?" Mike asked. Priscilla shook her head.

"Back when others visited, I was told to never preform magic of any kind, excepting those few minor abilities the Lifedrain gave me."

"Unfortunate." Mike clapped, sending a loud crack through the room. "But that was then and this is now! That staff is just an extra, but it'll do for anything short of an unfinished spell. Now…"

And so Mike went off on a long and wordy tangent involving the basic do's and don'ts of casting, primarily on manipulating magic and not making staves explode violently. The second part he was quite heavy on. As it turned out, Priscilla had a decent education on magic theory to boot. This pleased mike immensely, though he showed no signs of it to his impromptu student.

After a while, she began spell testing. As was expected, she could fire roughly two heavy soul arrows before she was drained, just over Mike's initial count of one. Despite being depleted of magic, she was quite happy with the results.

Mike, tinkering with a small spark of dark flame, was startled when a pair of arms enveloped him. "Thank you… again." Priscilla said into his ear. A tiny shudder shook him.

"If we keep this up, we might give them nosebleeds. Logan and Laurentius at least." Priscilla looked at him with confusion in her eyes.

"If we keep what up?" She asked innocently.

"The whole mushy hugging thing. They'll assume we have something going on." A small blush crept up Priscilla's face, her next words coming out as stutters.

"I- we d-don't… do we?" Flustered, Priscilla turned back and forth, glancing between him and the others.

Mike shrugged. "I've known you for all of like, a day, I think. I would have to say that if we were to have anything, it would have to wait until I at lease see Seath, so he doesn't ink of some horrible way to slowly and inevitably hollow me."

Priscilla fought with herself, trying to force down the blush heating her face. "T-that sounds suitable." She confirmed after a minute.

"Coo-" Mike was cut off as a sudden burst of sound filled the hall, jumping up and down wildly. If there was something important to hear, it was drowned out by the fluctuating pitches and volumes at which it came.

"Um." Mike said slowly, looking down at his hands. There his dark spark flickered softly, smaller than usual. Out of curiosity, he grew the spark with a touch of magic, Priscilla sidling up to him as he did so. The spark grew to about the size of a dime, turning into a small flame, but it simply sat there, giving up nothing.

After a few more minutes of twisting and manipulating the black flame he let it die out, a sigh escaping his lips. "We had something, at the least." He admitted, looking down at his palms as though they held the answer.

"Would my power perhaps help?" Priscilla asked, clutching her staff in both hands awkwardly. Mike shook his head.

"I don't think it's that…" He muttered, before promptly standing. As he talked he paced in a circle, looking down at the floor thoughtfully. "We got sound from just a little spark, a minute fraction of my magic. Admittedly, gargled sound, but better than nothing. No, I think were just missing something, something important…"

Casually, Mike glanced up at the location the painting had been in. Now the wall was simply a large, off white rectangle, which seemed oddly familiar…

"No." Priscilla jumped at the force with which Mike stated the word, as though it was an absolute truth. Moving slowly, he walked toward where the painting had been, stopping just shy of Logan and Laurentius.

"No, that can't… but if I… oh you've got to be shitting me." Priscilla hastened to follow him, his pace speeding up as he toyed with something in his hands, just out of her sight.

With a suddenness that caught her off guard, Mike spun sharply in place, almost slamming into her as she stopped. "Did you figure it out?" Priscilla asked eagerly, trying to look at what was in Mikes cupped palms.

"I did, I think." Mike answered, holding up his hands. Confusion spread across Priscilla's face as he opened them, only to reveal a tiny black speck in his palm, barely the size of a snowflake. "Just wait, I want to take this for a test run." Mike said as he turned, facing the sorcerer and pyromacer nearby. His face began to contort as he bent down, holding the black speck in front of the two with one hand on either side of it.

"All this time, I was trying too think of some way to make us just appear in the world, or make the world do so around us. Really, I should've just been thinking with portals." He turned to Priscilla, a small grin on his face. "Turns out, this isn't world! Were just looking in on it, the void simply showing the pretty lights to us! You might want to stand back now, this might or might jot create a pressure imbalance and blast this entire area with air, I'm not sure yet."

Mike turned back to the dark speck as he talked, his fingers curling as though grasping an edge. As Priscilla watched, small flickers of light began to come into being around the speck, merging with it when they came into contact. The tiny bead of dark seemed to draw the flames Mike summoned like a magnet, except it began to grow as he fed it more.

"Hrrrrgh!" Mike began to pull his arms apart when the orb was roughly the size of a marble, its inky surface gyrating too rapidly to track. Priscilla clasped her hands together tightly, hoping his plan would work.

* * *

"…and that is why my thesis _On Magic and Its Interactions With Other Non-Solid Substances_ awarded me the first place award for Most Useful Research." Logan said proudly, his hat tilted back slightly so as to facilitate slightly easier conversation with his newfound study partner. Laurentius had proved to be incredibly smart, for a pyromacer anyway, and was more than willing to listen to the old man ramble on about theoretical magical properties for, well, as long as Logan talked.

"That is quite intriguing." Laurentius began. "In the swamp, we had smiths that could use pyromancy to-"

"Stop." Logan commanded, a sudden iciness in his voice. His forehead pinched together as he stared at the halls round them, practically scenting the air. "There is… something here, of magical origin." He said slowly, his voice lowered to little more than a whisper. Laurentius tensed instantly, lifting from his cross legged position into a crouch with nary a sound, his axe in hand.

Oscar and Siegmeyer were disturbed from their activities by a sharp whistle that cracked through the room, alerting them to danger. Oscar, ever prepared, had shield and sword in hand in a matter of seconds. Siegmeyer simply brought his fists up, ready to assault whatever threat was present with his own where body mass. Solaire was the last to arrive, running over silently despite his armor.

"What is it?" Oscar asked quietly as he edged closer to the sorcerer. Logan squinted at the air, leaning forward slightly to see if the source of the magic was just very small, or actually invisible.

"There is… something here, concentrating a fair quantity of magic into one place. I must also note that this magic feels… oily, and warm. There appears to be no source here, and as it has not yet attacked us, I must assume it is not malign, at least for now." Logan began to walk around the anomaly slowly, inspecting every intangible facet of it that he could.

Suddenly, there was a surge in the magic, causing Logan's eyes to widen. "No… it couldn't be!" The sorcerer took a step back as he watched a tiny pinprick of blackness appear in the air, hovering there. Sharp intakes of breath were heard from the rest of the group as the pinprick grew, becoming almost thrice its original size in less than a minute.

"…Oooogam." If the dark had shook them, this knocked them down, even the fearless Oscar taking a slight half step back as he raised his shield.

"Who are you, and what do you want?!" Oscar yelled at the dark, quelling the urge to turn and bolt. Only ever had he seen Velka use dark magic, and to great effect (not counting Mike.)

"…ke!" Oscar winced at the loud, gargled sound that accompanied the dark. If this was, for whatever reason Velka, there was something quite wrong with them. Oscar slid back another step as the dot expanded once again, growing to the size of a palm. A sudden calm fell over the room as the loud crackling that accompanied the smaller dark subsided, replaced with a faint whooshing.

"Oscar? Can you hear me now?" The group froze. Across the hall, Oscar heard Lily and the gargoyles fall silent, their ears perked up in the direction of Mikes voice.

"I- Mike?! How are you- you're manipulating dark! And not here!" Oscar fumbled through more half questions as the dark was silent.

"Yes to all of those. Listen Oscar, I see Logan nearby, can he hear me?" Oscar looked over to Logan and nodded.

"Yes, I can hear you. Tell me, what happened to you? We had thought-"

"No time!" Mikes voice cut him off. "I need magic, pronto! I can't keep this open forever, and I personally don't feel like spending the rest of eternity stuck between worlds." Logan let out a startled cough when he heard the last part.

"How do I transfer-" A tan object appeared in the air, appearing from the black circle like, well, magic.

"Quickly!" Mike's strained voice yelled, the circle wobbling slightly as he did so. Logan hurried to connect with the appendage, channeling as much of his magic as he safely could into it. There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the circle, and its edged evened out again.

"Going to stretch this large enough to pass through now!" Mike warned. "Air seems to be rushing into here, so if you could grab Logan for me Siegmeyer, that would be nice!" The knight was hesitant, but came running when Logan jerked forward, almost falling into the black circle that'd began expanding.

From the size of a palm it grew, stretching into a dinner place sized disc in less than a minute. At some point Mike's entire hand appeared, and it began to grow even faster. From there it began to stretch upwards, the bottom hitting the floor eventually.

"Two bodies coming through, nobody touch the limp one!" First came a pale figure, startling Logan more than the circle did. With scales on her brow and a swishing whit tail, her origin, at least half anyway, was quite obvious. After her came a man clad in revealing yellow attire, who the crossbreed dragged by his headgear, which appeared burnt and limp.

The rest of the group gaped as much as Logan upon seeing the crossbreed and yellow man, nobody willing to speak. Eventually, there was a muffled clang as Siegmeyer planted his feet, taking a step backwards.

Logan, in turn, was pulled, along with mike, whose arm appeared from the dark. Each step seemed to become easier as Siegmeyer left the vacuum around the dark oval, pulling Mike's torso through. Finally, he was yanked fully from the doorway with a slight pop, to bounce off the floor as he shot forward.

"Finally!" gasped Mike, lying still on the floor. As suddenly as he had fallen, he returned to his feet, dusting off his clothes. Behind him, the dark wavered. "Ah, the magic Einstein-Rosen bridge is collapsing inward. Thing was a _nightmare_ to make."

He watched the dark curl inward, the air moving into it becoming less and less with every second. In a half minute only a speck remained, and soon, it was gone. Mike turned to Priscilla when all was said and done, his arms outstretched as if to hug her.

In a serious tone, he said, "you better catch me, or I'm going to break my nose."

"Wha-" The breath was knocked out of Priscilla as Mike limply collapsed onto her, out cold.


	28. Chapter XXIIX

_**Sorry, I seem to have lost Wednesday amidst schoolwork and home life. Mushy stuff, Siegmeyer panicking. Fun.**_

 _ **Please review and yadda yadda. Hit the little bell icon to get regular updates when I upload videos.**_

 _ **...wait a second.**_

"Hello there." Mike did his best impression of a Jedi as he could, sprawled out on his back on the floor. Initial tests of his motor functions ranged from minor use to absolute lack of feeling, which was primarily located in his limbs. His left hand he could twitch, and his right was almost entirely mobile from the wrist down. The rest was a little less useful, it seemed.

Looking to his left and right, Mike found he wasn't e only limp body sprawled out across the floor. Almost touching hands with him to his left was Jeremiah, his yellow clothing starkly contrasting with the dull colors of his companions' clothes. Said companions were seated on the floor to his right in a semi-circle, excepting the mages. Already, Logan and Laurentius were hovering warily over Jeremiah, faces twisted in concentration as they inspected him.

"Hold on." Mike said, interrupting a jumble of voices as he pulled his head up. Looking around, there was no one about except for the lizards, who appeared to be lying on the chandeliers remains. "Where's Priscilla?" He asked slowly. A panicked look crossed his face briefly as he thought of the void, but he distinctly recalled falling on her just before passing out.

Oscar was the first to speak. "The other figure with you, slightly feminine in shape?" He continued at mikes nod. "Bolted seconds after you fell. We were going to follow her, but she proved to be quite fast, and we did not want to move you for fear of internal injury. Solaire has been healing you nonstop for hours because we were out of estus."

Mike took a single look at the cathedrals door in the distance and sighed. "Right, we've got to catch her then. And by we, I mean I." At the protests Oscar began to form, Mike spoke up. "I've got estus in my bag, please retrieve it and heal me."

Mike shuddered as Oscar did so, the searing liquid inflaming his chest and limbs as it restored their functionality. It was then that Logan spoke up. "It was burnout." He said as he circled Jeremiah again, seemingly looking for some weakness in the chaos he held.

"Excuse me?" Mike turned clumsily to the sorcerer, almost falling over as his feet knocked against each other.

"Magic burnout. Simply put, too much energy for your soul, it began wearing down the connection between it and your body. It looks like this fellow too has such an affliction." Logan curiously leaned forward as something caught his attention. A few seconds later he jerked back as a small but hot speak of chaos kept from the pyromancers forehead, sizzling as it hit the floor.

"That's chaos." Mike explained, causing those present to jerk back almost immediately. Oscar, Siegmeyer, and Solaire drew their swords at once, looking quite prepared to eviscerate the unconscious man, while Logan and Laurentius merely looked intrigued, the latter slightly more so.

"WHAT?!" Siegmeyer bellowed out seconds later. "YOU BROUGHT CHAOS HERE?! WHY?!" Mike winced at the volume of the words.

"Sssssh, please Siegmeyer. This man is totally in control of his chaos, as far as I could tell, and so long as we don't touch him, it won't spread. Apparently he was locked in the painting by the gods, for whatever reason. Anyway, he's also quite the pyromacer." Mike finished looking towards Laurentius, who looked at the body in a new light.

The three with swords drawn, however, did not want to sheathe them, their looks varying from mild concern to outright horror. Mike, however, continued talking. "Don't forget, I was also infected by chaos in Blighttown. Does anyone remember what I did?" Mike looked over the group like a schoolteacher, until eventually Oscar spoke up.

"You reversed the chaos, and purified yourself. Yes, we understand, but how far gone is he?" The knight waved at Jeremiah. "Do you even have the magical strength to purify him?"

Mike snorted. "Nah. But I don't need it, not if we group cast, anyway. That's how Quelaag and I did it. Heh. Did it. Heh." Oscar flatly looked at Mike as he began to pace, his steps bringing him in a circle around the unconscious pyromacer.

"Anyway, thanks for the help, yadda yadda, I gotta go catch a rogue Priscilla. You lot head up to the upper walkway, and watch out for the other gargoyles, they spit lightning. I'll catch up whenever I'm able." Siegmeyer opened his mouth to continue the Jeremiah debate when Mike turned, and with power within enhanced strength kicked away from the group, his jump covering a quarter of the hall at once. Three more times he did this, before disappearing outside.

* * *

"Priscilla?!" Mike shouted as soon as he had exited the cathedral. Immediately he took note of the position of the corkscrew platform, which was level with the cathedral. Looking up, he could still see the gargoyle perched far above, waiting for the platform to be moved.

 _Not today friend._

As softly as he could, Mike slipped down the steps, the marble cool on his feet. Taking his time moving down the mechanism, he admired the city to his right, standing proud despite being empty. Not even wind dared disturb the place, a calm feeling hanging in the air.

Mike slowed as he neared the bottom, a quiet sound entering his eardrums as he stepped off the stairs. His brows furrowed as he turned in place, looking for the source. A look of understanding came over him as he turned to Gwyn's tomb, finding a white haired figure sitting inside, staring at the walls.

Priscilla made no indication of having noticed him as he entered the room, nearing her. The bonfire flared as he passed, and she jumped at the sound, finally taking notice of him. Her eyes were red when she turned, a hiccup escaping her as she muffled sobs. Without a word, Mike sat beside her on the steps, their sides nearly touching.

"…I don't get it." Priscilla eventually said, her voice hoarse. Mike turned to her in confusion. "I'm-" Mike cut her off almost immediately, certain of what she would say. Priscilla jumped slightly as his hands fell heavily on her shoulders, his words low.

"You are not."

"A ."

"Monster. Nor a mistake, nor anything else." Her eyes held uncertainty as he pulled her closer, his breath tickling her ear. "And if you don't stop thinking that way, I will tickle you until you piss yourself." A small tremor shook Priscilla as his voice lowered.

As though nothing had occurred, Mike leaned back and embraced the heat of the bonfire, waiting. Admittedly, Priscilla held out longer than he expected, taking well over a minute and a half before she talked again.

"You don't get it!" She nearly yelled, snapping Mike's eyes open. "I am a dragon! Enemy of the-"

"Pbttttttttttttttt." Mike almost laughed at Priscilla's reaction to him, her face turning dark red in seconds. Before she could interrupt his interruption, he continued.

"So?"

Priscilla stopped, her face freezing. "Gods hated the dark so much they tinkered with pygmy souls so they didn't have to see it, and even now, only one of many, many gods is still here in Lordran, the others too scared to actually face the First Flame. If that isn't convincing enough that they have shit judging skill, then I'm honestly not sure what is."

"But-" Priscilla trialed off quietly, her expression betraying confusion and shock.

"Oh! So Gwyn is also a hollow right now, Gwynevere ran off at the first sign of something being wrong, and Gwyndolin… well he's still here, but not doing much." Priscilla's eyes widened with each consecutive word. Mike thought for another second, before snapping loudly. "The firstborn is also a bit of a traitor to them, decided to side with the dragons… or something. He has literally no records now. There may or may not be a fourth child, I have no clue about that. I try to put three behind me."

Priscilla seemed to be stuck in a perpetual state of widened eyes, gold irises reflecting sunlight vividly. She seemed to take in Anor Londo in an entirely new light, her eyes passing over each building while she meticulously committed the image to memory. Eventually, she found the will to speak once more.

"Mike…" When he turned, the undead found both golden orbs locked onto his. "…Thanks." With startling suddenness Priscilla pulled him into an embrace, which he slowly returned. As they pulled apart a minute later, a gleam of shining gold caught his eye, snapping a sudden, brilliant plan into his head.

"…Hey?" Priscilla looked up shyly at Mike, only to find his eyes locked onto the statue behind her. Soon, his gaze snapped back down to her. "What say we go have a talk with Gwyndolin?"

Priscilla's eyes traced the room, taking in its carvings, before landing back on the statue from before. "You mean…?"

"Yep." Mike said confidently. Gently he lifted the crossbreed to her feet, before leading her with one hand to the golden depiction of Gwyn. "Gwyn's empty tomb, guarded by his son."

Priscilla opened her mouth to speak, only for a wide eyed look to appear on her face a second later. Choking noises escaped her throat as she fought to speak.

"Son?!" She finally coughed out, her eyes wide.

"Born on a full moon, so I guess that means he should've been a girl? Something didn't work out, apparently, so she's a guy." Mike let go of Priscilla's hand to press both into the statue, which was starkly cold. Harsh, delicate blue runes flowed into his mind almost instantly, an endless torrent strung together by magic and willpower. Despite the sheer volume of the moonlight runes, Mike committed much to memory, organizing them alongside the ebony runes employed by Velka's magics, and the flaming ones from Quelana.

Outwardly, Mike winced from the magic, almost breaking his connection to it in the process. Priscilla watched on in awe as he proceeded to rearrange runes, steadily deconstructing the statue. First an arm. Then a shoulder. Then the torso. Bit by bit the stone seemed to burst into nothingness, sending waves of moonlight infused air at them.

A sheen of sweat had collected on Mikes brow when he finished, and a small trickle of blood ran from his left nostril, filling the air with the scent of copper. Despite this, his face split into a grin as the last part of the statue, the back, burst, revealing a short passageway blocked by fog at the far end. Certainly, Gwyndolin must've noticed the missing spell by then.

"What was that?" Priscilla asked curiously as Mike wiped his face. "You did something similar to Velka's spells in the Painted world."

"Active spell cancelation. Somewhat simple with basic stuff, Logan said it was because I'm quite sensitive to magic that I can see so much at once. Shuffle around the right runes and you get entire lines to cancel themselves, and it just dominoes from there." Finished making himself presentable, Mike pulled out a handful of golden repair powder and wiped it across his robe, fixing it in a few seconds. That done, he took Priscilla's hand in his and led her down the steps to Gwyndolin's carpet, her blush going unnoticed.

"So Gwyndolin." Mike began as they neared the rug. "Just uh… try not to judge his condition, remember that almost everyone he knew has left, and he has some physical differences from you and I."

On cue, a smooth feminine voice filled the room. "Undead! I have felt your approach, and I am most surprised that you have passed through my magic! If you would be of the darkmoon-" The voice cut off suddenly. Mike and Priscilla glanced around in confusion as they waited for it to return.

Quietly to Mike, Priscilla whispered, "Certainly, he sounds feminine, for a male."

"YOU!" Both cringed at the wait that erupted around them, a wind ripping through the room relentlessly. "WHY ARE YOU NOT IN THE PAINTING CROSSBREED?!" Mike frowned at the tone Gwyndolin, his shrieking voice conveying disgust. Next to him, Priscilla cringed at 'crossbreed.'

Mike pressed back the anger that came from Gwyndolin's tone. "How about you go take a look at the charred remains YOUR MOTHER left behind?!" He quipped back. A muffled scream shook the air wildly, almost bowling over Mike. As a precaution, he began to search his bag for a weapon Priscilla could handle.

"Ever used a sword?!" Mike shouted over the wind whipping through the room. Priscilla looked with uncertainty at the claymore he held out to her, before accepting it with a small nod. After slinging the baldric over her shoulder, Mike grabbed her hand, and they both fought the wind to push forward, meeting the fog wall with furrowed brows and more than a little anger from Mike.

The hallway on the opposite side of the fog was as night is to day compared to their previous location. Priscilla's hand left Mike's to grip the hilt of her sword as a figure appeared at the end of the hall, waving a golden staff above their head. Almost as quickly as she had it, Priscilla lowered her grip, eyes wide.

"H-his legs…!" Mike nodded.

"Snakes, along with the 'wrong' gender. Almost makes me pity him. Anyway, let's try to keep him alive, for my peace of mind, and so I can steal his magic." Priscilla nodded once, barely noticeable.

As one, they charged, a wild look appearing in Priscilla's eyes.


	29. Chapter XXIX

_**So I've done a re-read of this, and chapters 6 through 12 are in serious need of editing. That**_ might _**affect next weeks update, so I've made this one a liiitle longer.**_

 _ **On an unrelated note, Bowsette is now with Priscilla on my list of best girls.**_

 _ **Edit: This chapter has been rewritten because I disliked the ending, and my newest beta has helpfully done some great editing. Enjoy.**_

And they were off, Priscilla's glare hardening as she yanked herself from the fog wall. Mike saw her back speeding away as he slid through the wall, immediately running after her. The object of their focus, Gwyndolin, gave a start as they neared, 'skipping the cutscene' so to speak.

Mike noticed an immediate discrepancy between his and Priscilla's speeds, unable to catch up as she neared the halfway point between them and Gwyndolin. Thinking for a second, he formed a small sphere of mist in each palm and tapped them against his legs, sending a jolt through his body as his next step catapulted him forward ten feet instantaneously.

Priscilla glanced over in surprise as Mike ran up besides her, sweat beading on his brow. Mike cut her off as she began to speak. "Dodge right!" Her eyes flicked to Gwyndolin, who was waving his golden scepter, and she nodded, a slight twitch of her head.

As predicted, when Gwyndolin flicked the head of his staff in their direction, disgust thick on his face, a bolt of shapeless blue magic burst from it, screaming down the hallway. Priscilla and mike smartly dodged it, skipping around the blue streak with ease. Priscilla's irritation only grew.

"Mike!" Priscilla called to her left. "I'm going to punch him!" A silver object flew at her from the other side of the hallway, glinting as it caught the light. Priscilla sagged slightly when its weight heavily added to hers. It turned out to be a slightly warm steel gauntlet, covered in small scratches and dents. Now mikes hands were both bare.

"Try to aim for the gut or an arm, I don't want to be responsible for killing a god!" Mike called back, a small grin present on his face. Priscilla slid on the oversized piece of armor and nodded. At that point, Gwyndolin was a matter of feet away, a confident smirk betraying his spellcasting. Before the god could complete the spell a pair of calloused hands grabbed the golden metal, roughly jerking it from his delicate hands. Gwyndolin cried out in surprise and outrage, his leg snakes hissing as he slid backwards.

"You stupid human! You will pay dearly for that mistake!" Mike hopped to the left smugly as a line of golden bolts assaulted the patch of air he'd previously occupied. It was then that Gwyndolin adopted his own smug grin, his eyes flicking to the end of his staff in Mikes hands. Mike followed his gaze to where the god was looking, his eyes widening as he saw what was at the tip.

A blue glow swelled around the end of Gwyndolin's staff, giving Mike enough time to look mildly surprised before he burst into a cloud of blue particles, even those flickering briefly before disappearing. Priscilla turned to Gwyndolin in a rage, her eyes expressing her emotions to him perfectly. Fury mixed with intense hatred for his hypocritical bigotry, a dark gleam of malice present in her normally relaxed, warm eyes.

With no means of teleporting Gwyndolin slithered backwards, a dark wooden crossbow gilded with fine gold filigree appearing in his pale hands. As he lined up his aim Priscilla noted a small flicker of fear warp his sneer, the twisted frown reappearing a second later. She passed off the look and continued running, keeping pace with the god easily. Her brows scrunched together in concentration as he pulled the release on his crossbow, letting fly tens of bolts per second.

His smug grin slowly transformed to shock as Priscilla effortlessly spun to the left, her hand outstretched. The bolts shattered off the thick gauntlet on her hand into a cloud of splintered gold and wood, a few catching in her fingers. In her fury, the intact pieces were launched at the god as she pulled up evenly with him, causing him to stagger as the sharp edges dug into his weak flesh.

And then, she jumped.

Suffice to say, the shrill yell that escaped Gwyndolin was one that Mike would later dearly wish he hadn't missed. The god went down under the heavier crossbreeds weight kicking and screaming, a barrage of insults spewing from his mouth like poison from – heh – a snake. Priscilla fought to keep his hands off her face, though they did little to actually annoy her, they were quite irritating dragging across her skin and scales.

"No! I will not allow such a horrid crossbre-"

Crack!

Gwyndolin's head spun to the right, a red handprint on his cheek. There was a loud ping from further down the hall as his spiked headdress fell to the ground, knocked completely from him. Priscilla leaned low to the startled gods face, which had become an image of surprise. In a low voice, she whispered, "insult me again. See what happens." Into his ear, his body shuddering as her hot breath touched his skin.

Priscilla gave a start as a loud noise sounded far above the two, echoing loudly through the hall. A moment later, Mike appeared to simply come into existence far above them, in the exact position he had been in when he'd disappeared.

"Don't move." Hissed Gwyndolin's feminine voice into Priscilla's ear, causing her to tense up. A cold, sharp point pressed into the skin just above her collarbone, drawing a tiny bead of crimson as it pierced her flesh. Still falling, Mike spun end on end through the air, flailing wildly for purchase where there was none. Priscilla clenched her eyes shut, anger and fear for Mike drawn across her face.

"Pbbbth." Priscilla and Gwyndolin both looked up sharply at the human made noise where mike had been. Standing tall, with a thick blue glow surrounding his feet, Mike stood with his arms crossed, glaring daggers at Gwyndolin. The god smirked from where he was on his back on the floor, a single golden bolt held up to Priscilla's neck.

"Wow." Mike began. "Using your own sister as a hostage. That's almost as bad as Velka."

Gwyndolin's face twisted with rage at the sound of his mother's name. "YOU WILL NOT-" The god took a deep breath, calming himself. "You will _not_ speak Ill of her. If she burnt the painting, then so be it. Her judgement is such that she-" he indicated Priscilla "-must die. And so, she shall."

Mikes eyes widened as the golden bolt jerked forward, Gwyndolin's faith in his own mother such that he would see her will to completion despite his own personal safety. What happened next stunned him nearly as much as his first death.

 **"STOP IT!"** Mike was violently slammed into a wall as a concussive wave of force slammed into him, a small crack sounding from his face. Magic hummed through the air alongside the force, causing him to slide along the wall away from where Priscilla was. Under her Gwyndolin writhed, a trickle of blood escaping his bent nose and flying down the hallway to splatter against the floor in the distance. His crown, some feet away, rolled further with a clang, and the bolt he'd held flew at the wall so fast it was reduced to a fine gold smear on the bricks, the wood bursting into a puff of brown dust that fell to the floor some thirty feet away.

When the pressure lifted, Priscilla staggered to her feet, Gwyndolin limp before her. Mike sipped a tiny amount of estus to reset his broken nose before skipping forward to catch her, her arms flopping tiredly against his shoulders as she leaned into him. The anger and rage faded from her face as she leaned into him, breathing heavily.

"I didn't break him too much..." Priscilla mumbled into Mike's shoulder, her steps uneven and weak as he pulled her toward the fallen god.

"I think the glove would've been less damaging then this…" Mike muttered in awe as he crouched to inspect Gwyndolin, his robes slowly turning red as blood trickled from his nostrils. Looking closer, Mike also noted red pooling in his ears, slowly dripping to the floor. With care he pulled down Gwyndolin's chin, letting a slow stream of estus in his mouth. After a few seconds, the bleeding began to taper off, stopping entirely not long after. Still somewhat out of it, Priscilla drunkenly leaned on Mike as he lifted Gwyndolin onto his left shoulder, the god surprisingly light.

Before they left the hall, which began to collapse into itself, Mike entered the back room and nicked the armor and miracle there, dropping both into his bottomless box before moving back the way they'd come.

"So what did you do back there?" Mike finally asked as they began ascending the winding stairs outside. Priscilla looked to be more lucid now, but still leaned into his side as they ascended.

"I- I don't know…" She said, concern in her voice. "I just… grew tired of listening to his hateful words, and something just… burst from me, pushing everything away."

Mike fell into contemplative silence. "Hm. It sounds, and appeared to be magical in nature. After we've introduced you, and properly restrained Gwyndolin, Would you mind if I inspected your soul?"

A slight blush tinted Priscilla's cheeks pink. "I- Certainly." She stuttered, turning away. Mike was far too deep into his thoughts to notice, or he was simply too dense.

The others perked up at the far end of the hall when they entered, signaled by the lizard group. It appeared the cluster that'd been atop the chandelier had awoken, and a small blue blur shot from the rubble almost instantly, trailing a high pitched squeal behind it.

Mike staggered as Lily slammed into his legs, tiny claws gripping him tightly. With her stubby arms, she pulled herself up his robes, her tail flicking back and forth relentlessly. "Don't worry." He said to the crossbreed, who was staring at Lily in shock. "She's quite safe, her name's Lily, and she appears to have missed me."

A new voice entered the conversation. "He-" Oscar froze, face betraying immense shock and terror as he took in Priscilla's appearance. Or, to be more precise, he noticed the spattering of white scales and horns across her forehead, tracing them down to her neck with wide eyes. His hand went immediately to his sword, a shout choking its way out of him.

"M-Mike! This is a dragon kin!"

Mikes muscles grew taut, his legs shifting to intercept any attack Oscar might make. He forced himself to speak calmly in return. "Oscar." He grit out through clenched teeth. "Stand down, now." The knight, looking about ready to dive forward onto the crossbreed, paused in confusion as Mike took a single, slow step towards him.

"She is not an enemy." Mike put emphasis on the 'she' part, a waved hand indicating Priscilla. In the few seconds when Oscar was turned away he carefully lowered his passenger to the ground, propping Gwyndolin up against a pillar before turning back to the knight. "She has had one hell of a week, so I would consider my next course of action carefully if I were you." Mike let his arms slowly turn to fire for emphasis, a small curl of smoke rising from his sleeves as he did so.

Oscar looked down, his eyes closing. Slowly he sheathed his sword, straightening into a rigid posture. He bowed once, rigidly, to Priscilla. When he spoke, his voice was strained. "I'm- Oscar, of Astora, miss…?"

"Priscilla." The crossbreed spoke softly, almost whispering. Oscar nodded, and turned back the way he'd come.

"I will finish and be prepared to move soon." He walked away quickly. Mike sighed, slinging an arm around Priscilla's shoulders.

"Don't worry about him." He said calmly. His arm, still a little warm, made Priscilla's shoulders tingle where they touched. "He's a little… uptight? Took a sword for me once without a word, but some things he's a little wary about. Good thing I didn't show him the black flame."

Priscilla nodded, leaning slightly to the side. Just as they prepared to head for the far end of the cathedral, another few undead showed up from around a column.

"Hello there!" Siegmeyer jovially called, waving an armored arm goofily. Solaire waved too, albeit a little less like Siegmeyer's wild flail.

Solaire came to a stop before Siegmeyer did, his eyes widening as he saw the top of Priscilla's head. The crossbreed cringed at what he might say. She, and Mike, were both startled when the knight fell to his knees, taking one of her hands as gently as though she was a newborn. When he spoke, he sounded as though he was near tears.

"I-" Solaire stopped, his voice cracking. "Miss, though I know you not, you are of the dragons, and it is with conviction that I lend you my sword and shield, need you they ever." Mike coughed wildly at the declaration, while Priscilla blushed three shades of red. When she pulled her hand away, it was alongside much stuttering.

"I- Thank you, k-kind sir. Please, I am merely a crossbreed, I require no such treatment." Mike crowed a little on the inside at the declaration, for a reason he couldn't properly put to words. Siegmeyer, finally having regained his breath, pulled himself into a puffed chest salute with his hands holding the hilt of his sword with the blade pointed out. With a swift, and surprisingly efficient movement Siegmeyer then returned the massive blade to its sheath.

"Welcome to our group miss!" The knight said a little over excitedly, one of his gauntleted arms shaking her hand vigorously. Priscilla looked like she didn't know what to make of him, the look turning to one of surprise as the gargoyles trotted over, following his voice.

"Oh, fathers creations!" Priscilla crouched to pet the gargoyles, Siegmeyer beaming at the two scaled humanoids. Standing somewhere around five feet tall in a crouch, which they preferred, the gargoyles were just a few inches short of Mike, roughly a head shorter than Priscilla and the knights. Along with them, Mike noticed the snake humanoid crouched behind them almost before it was too late, a shout and a kick alerting the others to its presence.

Wound up in its arms was a crackling bolt of lightning, which neared its fingers rapidly as Mike ran behind the gargoyles. In a split second he was close enough to grab its four arms in his own, two in each hand, and force them upwards, sending the lighting straight upward. The snake hissed angrily, going for a bite in his shoulder. Priscilla and the undead gasped as Mike let the snake chomp into him, piercing his robes with ease.

Mike snorted once and clamped a hand down on his shoulder, effectively sticking the snake there until he let go. "Its venom is no danger to me." He reassured the others when he saw their looks of shock. With Priscilla's help he was able to retie the lizard's hands, this time double knotting the rope.

"What is it?" Priscilla asked quietly, bending down to inspect the short humanoid. It regarded her with cold disdain, a menacing gleam in its eyes.

"Presumable something Seath made. It can shoot magic lightning from its arms, so I was going to study it when I had the chance."

Priscilla nodded, causing a sudden shift in the lizard. A wide, terror filled look caused it to step back in shock as the crossbreed was staring at it, its arms shaking wildly in an attempt at taking its ropes off. When it couldn't do that, it began to push itself backwards with its legs, its eyes wide with terror.

"I- what happened to it?!" Priscilla exclaimed in shock as Mike lunged, grabbing it with a strong grip. Roughly he pried it from the floor, pulling it forward. The snake shook wildly when it neared Priscilla, its neck frills curling to cover some of its face. Siegmeyer looked in on the whole situation and calmly observed the snake.

"I think its scared of you miss." Siegmeyer said slowly. He squinted at the snake for a minute before nodding. "Perhaps it is due to your similar heritage? Mayhaps it sees you as a more superior reptile, and therefore believes it has angered you."

Understanding entered the crossbreed and Mike's eyes. He held it steady as she crouched, looking the snake in the eye. "Hey." She said softly. It had curled its neck flaps around its face, and was looking down as best as it could. A gentle hand caused it to jerk in Mike's grip, resisting her little as she pulled its head up to look at her.

"I'm not going to hurt you." Priscilla said softly, letting her hand gently run down the back of its neck. A small tremor shook the snake, despite the terror in its eyes. That having failed, Priscilla calmly reached over to Mike, rummaging through his bottomless box for a moment before coming up with a small knife. As slowly as she could she edged the blade forward, pressing it to the tight knots in the rope around the snakes hand. It jerked when the blade made contact with its skin, the smooth cold causing it to tremble with renewed ferocity.

Priscilla calmly cut the bindings on the snake's hands, lightning never once crackling down its wrists. When she finally cut the last section a small jerk pulled the hands loose, all four immediately going to where Mike had it by the shoulders.

In a final move of kindness to the terrified snake, Priscilla gently touched its shoulder, looking sternly at Mike as she did so. He released the snake without hesitation, letting Priscilla pull it forward. It looked conflicted, nervously hunched and fidgeting with its hands, though it never tried to break from her light grip.

With quick, smooth movements Priscilla leaned forward and embraced the snake, causing a startles hiss to escape it. Its eyes jerked around wildly, filled with confusion. Mike and Siegmeyer looked on, Mike watching the snake for danger while Siegmeyer smiled widely at Priscilla. When she pulled away the snake looked at her with confusion and awe, acknowledging her as the stronger, 'better' creation of Seath's.

It collapsed.

"Goddammit." Mike swore, catching the snake before it hit the floor. Priscilla gasped softly.

"What happened?!" She asked, her eyes wide.

"It must've been under a lot of stress, to it you must've seemed a god." Siegmeyer explained. Priscilla nodded along slowly, a look of distaste crossing her features at being called a god. It was then that a loud, boisterous voice echoed down the hall to them.

"…WHERE IS SHE?!" Priscilla seemed to perk up at the sound, Mike, Solaire, and Siegmeyer doing the opposite. The grating voiced caused the three to tense up, their hands drawing their individual weapons. Priscilla, however, recognized the voice.

"Jeremiah!" She exclaimed, turning to the far end of the hall. Mike understood instantly, turning with her.

"That's the body that was with me." He explained to Siegmeyer and Solaire as they broke into a brisk walk. Mike grabbed Gwyndolin as they passed. When they turned the nearest column, they were greeted with the sight of Oscar and Laurentius restraining a fiery tempered Jeremiah, literally. Every so often the man's skin would flicker briefly before releasing wild blasts of flame that scorched Oscar's armor and caused Laurentius to skitter away from the orange flames until they died down.

Jeremiah continued to thrash like a trapped animal until Priscilla ran over, running straight for the yellow clad man. Oscar stepped back a step involuntarily, wary of the fast moving crossbreed.

"Jeremiah!" Priscilla yelled out as she jumped onto him, embracing him tightly. Jeremiah looked at her new side for a few seconds, before embracing her back with a slightly stunned look.

"Priscilla, you're…" Priscilla nodded.

"It was-" She paused, a shiver going through her. "Velka." She said coldly, her look hardening. A moment later she was wracked with another shiver, her hands going to the twin handprint scars on her collarbone.

"So it was her." Jeremiah said slowly, a thoughtful look coming to his face. Mike coughed, breaking the following silence.

Jeremiahs reaction was instant. Apparently still wary of the dark witch, he grabbed Priscilla by the shoulder, pushing her back as he stepped forward. "You! Who are you, undead?!"

"Jeremiah!" Priscilla exclaimed, much like a daughter would to her embarrassing dad. "He's the one that saved me and you! Stop pointing your pyromancy at him!"

Mike watched he'd the quick to anger pyromacer with a bemused look as Priscilla forced his outstretched right palm down. "I sure did." He said as he walked forward, calmly throwing an arm around Priscilla. "Even pulled you from between worlds after Velka burned the painting to ash."

This seemed to wake Jeremiah from his anger induced stupor, opening his eyes to his surroundings. Both seemed to bug out of his skull as he slowly turned a full circle, taking in the cathedral and its inhabitants. When he turned back to Mike, he seemed to be an entirely different person, a look of calm settled over his features.

"I- sorry about that…" He mumbled. "The uh, the chaos, it messes with me sometimes."

Mike nodded. "I can fix that." (Holes reference woo.) Jeremiah seemed confused as Mike casually walked over to Laurentius and Logan, who were tensely watching the conversation. "Jeremiah, Logan of Vinheim and Laurentius of The Great Swamp. These two woke you from your comatose state, which you were in for a few days, and they have my notes on chaos reversal." The mages handed over the papers carefully, additional notes added in dark blue ink.

One by one he introduced the others as he approached the bipolar pyromacer. "Oscar and Solaire of Astora, Siegmeyer-"

"-of Catarina!" Siegmeyer chuckled.

"-and the unusual number of lizard like creatures we have amassed are mostly unnamed, excepting Lily." Lily acknowledged Jeremiah with a lazy stare, before returning to her position curled up on Mike's shoulder. "Anyway, I managed to purify a really tiny piece of chaos tainted soul, so hopefully we can get you fixed. It might not be quick though, fixing such a small piece took three or four hours, not counting the magic it took to power it."

Jeremiah looked over the notes with a keen eye when Mike handed them to him, before handing them back with a nod. "I can't read a run on them."

"Oh." Mike put the notes into his bottomless box for the moment. "Well anyway, YOU GUYS CAN STOP STARING, and nice to meet you. I'm Mike, of Earth."

Jeremiah shook Mike's hand with a firm, warm grip. A small smile coming to his face. "Sorry, if I seem a bit awkward." He said sheepishly. "I haven't seen people in oh, five or six hundred years, give or take a century." Mike nodded.

"Priscilla was exactly the same." He pointed to the crossbreed, who nervously fidgeted. "But now she's kicked Gwyndolin's ass almost alone, so that seems to have made up for it." Jeremiah made a gagging, choking sound as Mike casually mentioned the god. It was then that he noticed the lump slung over the undead's shoulder, shrouded in white cloth.

"You mean…?!" He pointed at the lump with surprise.

"Yep. Also, Gwyndolin is a boy, but was raised female because of some birthdate thing. Dunno. He also has these." Jeremiah yelled out as Mike lifted the white dress, revealing a set of light green snakes dangling from the gods lower half.

"You- you haVE A GOD!"

Priscilla slapped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late. The others jerked up at the exclamation, all looking to Mike. Gasps filled the air as they made their way over, Jeremiah suddenly ignored.

"Truly?!" Siegmeyer, surprisingly, was the first to stop in front of Mike. Said undead sighed heavily.

"I had been hoping to announce this in a little better of a setting, but YES." Holding both hands above his head, Mike turned in a slow circle, giving the others a glimpse of the god, who flopped forward in his hands. "THIS IS GWYNDOLIN, THE DARK SUN. PRISCILLA BEAT HIM UP. I REITERATE, STOP STARING"

Priscilla let out a startled yelp. "N-no I didn't!" She exclaimed.

"Did too."

"I-I…" Mike slung Gwyndolin back onto his left shoulder and made his way to Priscilla, poking her in the shoulder.

"Totally messing with you." He said jokingly. To the others, "She did, but it wasn't for no reason. He kind of tried to kill us for being alive, in Priscilla's case at least. It was only a matter of time, and at least now we don't have to backtrack through a bunch of enemies to get him."

"What do you plan to do with… him?" Oscar asked slowly. Even though they had already defied one god, this one was legitimate blooded royalty, giving the usually stoic knight pause.

"Inaugurate him into my cult." Oscars look burned a hole into his forehead. "Fine. Mostly we're just going to convince him to play nice and not kill Priscilla. And I kind of feel bad for him."

Oscar heaved a sigh.

"Fine. Am I correct in assuming he is merely passed out?"

"That Priscilla did. Some sort of telekinesis bullshit that I most definitely want to copy." Priscilla shrunk under the sudden glances from the others.

"Tele-what?" Logan asked.

"Some sort of manipulation of darkness used to directly move objects without touching them. The idea was present where I come from, it just didn't exist though. My assumption is that perhaps the stress caused her to tap into residual darkness from where Velka's soul was. Also, Velka ripped a chunk of soul from her that she originally planted when Priscilla was a baby. I think that covers most of it."

Priscilla subconsciously placed a hand over the scars on her neck. "I- So that was what it was…" She mumbled.

"Oh! So also, I tapped into the dark in my soul in the painted world, so this." Mike held up an orb of reddish black flame, which instantly hooked Jeremiah and Laurentius.

"Admittedly, I didn't think you'd actually do it." Oscar said as he stared in fear and slight attraction to the dark orb. Mike snuffed it out and again held up Gwyndolin.

"Anyway, I'm going to wake this guy up now, so everyone be quiet." He laid Gwyndolin against a column, making sure the bindings on his hands were secure around the pillar before a large, filth stained club from his satchel. After waving it under the god's nose for a second, coughing erupted from his chest.

"Where…. Where am I?"


	30. Chapter XXX

_**Notice: Mostly I ignore DS3's lore when I feel like it, and that's because II haven't played it that much and what I did I didn't particularly like.**_

 _ **Anyway, this chapter is a liiiitle short, but on time!**_

 _ **Also chapter XXX HAHA ITS AN INNUENDO GET IT?**_

"Your sister's cathedral." Mike answered honestly. Gwyndolin sneered down towards the undead, irritation in his look. Mike gave Jeremiah a very stern look to dissuade the undead as he inched forward menacingly. Laurentius and Loagn stood next to their fellow mage when he stepped back.

"What is your motive, foolish undead?" Gwyndolin asked harshly, "Power? Knowledge? Just to know you _could_?"

This gave Mike pause. "I…" A hand went to his chin as he thought. "Honestly, I fell somewhere around the 'just cause' reasoning. There's proof enough in this city that gods aren't all powerful, all knowing beings, and you were going to leave saving the world to an undead anyway…"

"Yes, but not one that kills pardoners and slanders the gods at a whim!" Gwyndolin retorted.

"Sla- Wait, you think I lied about the painting? Literally turn to your left!" Mike pointed at the small line of ash on the floor in the indicated direction. The wall where the painting had hung was covered in dark soot.

Mike allowed himself a small grin when the god turned, his jaw dropping. "The painting!" He exclaimed. "That took Ariamis forty years to paint!"

"Ah, so Ariamis was the painter's name. Thanks for clearing that up." Gwyndolin continued to stare in shock at the soot covered portion of the wall.

"Why?" Gwyndolin asked, a little softer of tone than before. "Why destroy such a thing?"

"She wanted Priscilla's soul." Mike said plainly. Priscilla nodded.

"At birth she imbued me with Lifehunt, a piece of her blackened soul. She burnt the painting after collecting what she was able, and I barely escaped with the help of Mike." Priscilla crouched, to speak with Gwyndolin eye to eye.

"Please, brother, if you've a heart, work with us. We seek the Lord vessel, to further the undead prophecy. If you would speak to-" She paused. Turning to Mike, she asked, "Who guards the Lord vessel now?"

"Ornstein and Smough."

"Please, if you could have them grant us passage without a fight, we would greatly appreciate it." Gwyndolin's look softened a fraction, before he shook his head, the glare returning.

"Perhaps." He mused. "Be they sane?"

"Ornstein probably. Can't say for Smough. I figure you'd know, having illusions up there."

Gwyndolin sighed. "Correct. They are both still sane, though likely on guard at the disappearance of said illusions. They will be on high alert when you encounter them."

"Mmmkay." Turning to the others, he spoke. "So, we've got a clear shot at the Lord Vessel. After that, a bunch of highly dangerous locations and an inevitable show of strength against Velka. Ideas?"

The group seemed baffled by the suggestion. That they, mere undead, would take on a goddess. Eventually, Siegmeyer raised a gauntleted palm.

"Become stronger?" Siegmeyer offered.

"Noted. Oscar?" Mike nodded towards the knight, who had held aloft his right hand, cleared his voice and spoke loud enough for everyone to hear.

"She is a dark goddess, perhaps you know of some manner of light weapon to use against her?" Mike nodded.

"Good idea. There are a few, Grant, your sword, and perhaps divine reinforced weapons, maybe- oh! Artorias's sword. That'll require a trip to Oolacile."

Startled breaths were taken in the semicircle of undead. Logan was the first to speak, eagerness in his voice. "You mean to say that you know the location of ancient Oolacile, wherein-"

"Ew, no." Logan looked disappointed. "I know how to get to Oolacile in the past. Turns out the first dark lord can rip holes in time space if you bring a special pendant close enough to the ruins." Logan's breath hitched, and Laurentius and Jeremiah had to lead him away for fear of the older mage hyperventilating.

Gwyndolin looked startled. "But, that was where the knights disappeared…" Turning to Mike, he spoke with urgency and fear. "You, how do you know of this?! What happened to my knights?!"

"Gough, Artorias and Ciaran? Long story short, Gough went into retirement, Artorias got possessed by the Abyss, and Ciaran either killed herself over Artorias's death or planted her ring on a corpse and went into hiding. In actuality, usually an undead goes into the past and is the one to kill Manus, stopping the spread of the Abyss." Gwyndolin at least didn't deny his claims as Oscar and Solaire had.

"You know much, more than even those tasked with gathering information in Oolacile did." Mike wasn't sure if this was a compliment or a call out.

"…Anyway, working with Manus might be a consideration." Mike said, to the shock of everyone, especially Gwyndolin.

"The Dark Lord? He was mad then, and supposedly more powerful than Artorias! How do you plan to stop him?!" Oscar shouted.

"The same way I figured out the chaos?" Mike said in a measured tone. "The way I see it, the Abyss seems somewhat like chaos. Dark magic is normally pretty calm, so why do locations tainted with the Abyss kill undead and humans, who are also dark creatures? I would guess its either because the magic is bad, or Manus is nuts. Either way, he shows signs of at least being able to show emotion, perhaps he's redeemable."

"You are far too altruistic." Oscar sighed.

"Its worked so far, hasn't it? The gargoyles, Lily, Priscilla, Quelaag, and Gwyndolin have all been relatively nice and redeemable." Mike shrugged. "If I'm doing something wrong by being nice, I very much would like a refund on my Lordran vacation."

"I must admittedly agree with the blue knight." Gwyndolin spoke up. "He speaks with intelligence. Is it not likely that eventually you may 'recruit' an enemy without knowing?"

"Maybe?" Mike responded pensively. "Come to think of it… nah. I mean, I guess one of you," He gestured to the assembled undead, "could kill me, but then, I'm undead, and using most of the existing magic types, excepting hexes, crystal magic, and miracles. So I'm not terribly worried." Gwyndolin hummed, sitting back against the pillar behind him as he thought.

"Your thinking has a backwards way about it that seems to never become old." Oscar noted. "Anyway, what else might we use against the dark witch?"

"Well, I suspect we might be able to recruit a few more folks to help us with the war effort, I'm thinking the chaos sisters, at least three of them, Nito, Seath, and whatever sentient beings we meet in the meantime that I've forgotten." Shudders went through the group at the mention of Seath, Logan and Laurentius shuddered in excitement, Priscilla in masked fear, and… Gwyndolin? The god seemed to scoot back a little at the mention of the crazed dragon, his eyes widening ever so slightly.

"What will we do with him?" Siegmeyer asked, waving a hand in the general direction of Gwyndolin. Said god looked up at Mike, irritation plain on his face.

"Yes, what will you do with me?" He asked, venom dripping from his words.

"Dunno. You going to try and strangle us or something?"

"I would not touch you for the crown of all of Anor Londo."

"He's good. Oscar, the binds?" The knight huffed in annoyance, but still crouched to cut away the ropes around Gwyndolin's wrists. A small sigh subconsciously escaped his mouth as he rubbed his chaffed skin, angry and red from movement in the ropes.

It was almost comical, his next reaction. As he rose to his snakes, Gwyndolin seemed to jerk to a stop at Priscilla's height, a head taller than Mike, his 'legs' just poking from under his robe. His eyes, pale blue, widened considerably as his hands snapped to his head, rapidly searching his head for what wasn't there.

"My crown! Where is my crown?!" Gwyndolin turned on Mike angrily. "I require my crown!"

Mike, unintimidated, shrugged. "I guess we left it back in the hallway. Can you manage without it?"

Gwyndolin shuddered at the thought of what could've happened to his crown. "…Yes." He said, somewhat reluctantly. He could already see where this was going. "I may, but it is not without great difficulty. The crown is part of my attire as the princess of-"

Mike coughed. "Prince." Gwyndolin turned towards Mike with a look of shock covering his features.

"How?"

A hand tapped the side of his head knowingly. "It's mostly up here. I could also tell you where Gwynevere ran off to, or where Gwyn is." Gwyndolin seemed choked up, but his duties as a god came first.

With a heavy sigh, he continued. "My crown is part of my attire as prince. It stands as a symbol of power, to remind those below who leads them."

Silence. When Mike spoke up, it was a little softer than before. "You uh, kind of realize no one is here anymore, right? Excepting your knight up at the bonfire and the men upstairs, this place is abandoned.

This seemed to be the final pin in Gwyndolin's cushion. The god seemed to deflate with a sigh, his head sagging on his shoulders. "…yes, I know." He mumbled softly. "But perhaps, if I present a powerful image to the people who remain I- "

Gwyndolin gave a start as a metal hand landed on his shoulder, surprisingly warm. Oscar stood before him, and just a little shorter. "It will not work." The knight said gently, as though the god was made of porcelain. "Astora did the same, its people turning inward in an attempt at staying whole. In the end, we ripped ourselves apart."

Gwyndolin nodded silently. "Right now, the best course of action would be to try and move forward in preventing whatever Velka is planning. Already she has tortured her own daughter, destroyed the painted world, and attempted multiple times to kill the supposed 'Chosen Undead.' Without you, we'll have to resort to violence to pass the guards further on."

"I… could help, then." Gwyndolin raised his head, looking toward Mike. Oscar stepped back silently as his attention was directed elsewhere, sliding back into the group of undead silently, despite his armor. "But! First I require my staff, and the spells which you took."

Logan seemed to stiffen as Mike casually pulled the papers he'd confiscated from Gwyndolin out of a pocket. Next came his staff, which was in his bottomless box. As one they were handed to the god, who seemed a whole lot more intimidating with his staff, even at half height. Laurentius held the scholar back, reassuring him that they would re-acquire the magic eventually. Jeremiah hovered further back, still unushed to the group mentality.

Gwyndolin seemed to fill the whole room with his presence, rising to his full height a head above Priscilla with a slightly majestic flip of his hair. A moment later a string smacked into his face, causing laughter to erupt from the group. The god looked to Mike sharply.

"You ought to put your hair up, it won't get in the way so much. You too Priscilla." A similar string landed on the crossbreed, startling her. "Also, why've you been so quiet all this time? You haven't barely said a word since we started discussing this mess."

Priscilla looked up from her hands at Mike, a startled look on her face. Upon seeing all the other undead watching her she blushed, nervously tying back her hair. "I-I was trying to understand earlier."

"Ohhhh. That's alright, though I definitely want to know everything when you get it sorted out." Priscilla nodded, and blushed again as his hand found hers, pulling her forward. Navigating through the undead cluster, Mike casually leaned toward Logan as he passed.

"Don't worry, I totally stole some of those spells. Watch this." Logan whipped his head towards him as Mike raised his staff, grinning in the direction of Priscilla as he waved it above them. "Come on guys, stop lagging behind."

A blue flash, and they were halfway across the cathedral, Lily sneezing loudly when they appeared. Gwyndolin stared in shock besides Logan, both with mouths agape at what had just happened. Checking his pockets, the blue paper containing the spell was still there, absent of magic. Another flash and the two were at the doorway, Mike passing a cheeky wave to the group before they stepped outside.

 _ **See ya next week :D**_


	31. Chapter XXXI

_**ONE HUNDRED K WORDS.**_

 _ **:D**_

 _ **Fuck you Keyper for thinking I wouldn't. Just for you guys, another chapter will be out in a few days, and it'll have something new and fun. If I don't mess it up. Anyway, review so I feel all warm and fuzzy inside, or cold and naseous if one of you legitimately points out plot holes I've been avoiding editing because I'm lazy.**_

Almost as soon as he had taken his first step after teleporting, Mike knew something was off. Aside from the fact that he had a splitting headache that seemed to be trying to escape through the backs of his eyes, his hands became cold and stiff, and a splotch of red appeared on the stone in front of him, splattering in a plate sized circle.

"Ow." Mike said, his voice coming out nasally and slurred due to the blood clogging his nasal cavity. Priscilla jerked back with a gasp as the blood colored the front of her feet red, forming twin crimson streaks where she walked.

"What happened?!" She exclaimed after a moment, stepping forward to help hold Mike up. Limply, he threw an arm around her shoulder, letting her lower him gently to the ground against the cathedral.

"I fink de magic did id." Mike slurred, lifting his limp hands. Both had turned a shade of light blue on the backs, the magic crystals twinkling in the light. The hard blue crust seemed to have replaced a thin layer of his skin, including the nerve ends there. It was slightly disturbing, the cold, numb feeling, like some overeager dentist had used too much numbing agent. "Brain nod good for gasting magig. Can you ged the esdus?"

Priscilla pulled the estus from his bag and carefully dripped it into Mikes mouth, his hands slowly returning to normal. The magic crystals on the backs of them faded slightly, cracking and chipping off in tiny pieces that glittered like tiny silver-blue sparks, leaving behind a faded lattice of blue lines overlapping his pyromancy tattoos like a knitted glove, except it had been an overzealous grandma that'd knitted it into his skin.

"Thanks." Mike said when the blood stopped, thankfully invisible against the black of his clothing. "Note for future, memorizing spells works, but is not, I repeat not viable."

"You memorized all of the spell in that little time?" Priscilla asked with incredulity. Mike confirmed this with a nod.

"A special memory technique. I don't use it terribly often, just with things like this." He glanced down at his hands, which had returned to normal, mostly. "Usually it doesn't do this." Priscilla fell into step with him as he rose to his feet, walking briskly towards the spiral elevator. Behind them the sound of the others catching up began to come through the doorway, Gwyndolin's feminine voice distinct from the numerous males'.

"Hey!" Mike called back before they walked out of earshot. "Gwyndolin, grab the Darkmoon Knightess if you want, Siegmeyer, there're two gargoyles here, one to the right below, and one above. Me and Priscilla are going to go ahead!" A muffled confirmation reached their ears as they resumed moving forward.

When they'd entered the elevator Mike ignored the control device, walking around the stairs to the left. A flick of his wrist called up a ball of mist as he neared the railing.

"How will we get there?" Priscilla asked, looking over the wall to where the elevator connected below.

"Climb on my back, I'll jump us across." Mike said as he used his staff to cast fall control. With a little trepidation Priscilla wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs clamping around his midsection as she squeezed her eyes shut.

"Please make it quick." She said as Mike climbed onto the railing, perching there as he judged the distance.

"You lived on top of an island in the middle of a bottomless void and you're afraid of heights?" Mike asked, incredulous.

"…Yes." Priscilla mumbled, her eyes clenched together tightly. "Just shut up and jump." Her face burned as she clenched her arms around his neck tighter.

The transition from rail to path was as smooth and effortless as walking to Mike, barely a jolt going through him as he dropped into a crouch at the bottom. Priscilla dropped off him instantly, brushing the wrinkles in her clothing smooth as she stood straight. Above to their left the sound of undead and Gwyndolin emerging from the cathedral echoed down to them. Hanging behind a ways were the gargoyles, chattering back and forth with the humanoid lizard, which seemed to have warmed to them after meeting Priscilla.

"Kind of unusual." Mike said as they began ascending, using the leftmost stairs. "For a dragon kin to be afraid of heights."

"Yes, well most human children fear the dark, or so I am told." Priscilla retorted, obviously distraught.

"I didn't mean it like that!" Mike replied. "The only reason I haven't pissed myself falling like that is because I know I could just cast an almighty fall control if I need to, or just snap a homeward bone. On that note, here's a spare." Priscilla gingerly took the offered rib bone with two fingers, tucking it into a pocket on her shirt. She wiped the residual ash on her fingers away on Mike's back. "Getting you back for that." He warned.

"On a completely unrelated note, how's the telekinesis working out.?" Mike asked as they reached the top of the stairs. Crackling yellow sparks spat from the ends of a pair of giant halberds wielded by matching knights as they neared. There they stopped briefly, Priscilla eyeing the still giants as they caught their breath.

"I-" Priscilla looked down at her hands. "I can feel the magic, but it keeps… going out when I try to use it like before. Like this." Mike watched as she held up a piece of string from her sleeve, the thread little more than an inch long. Her face scrunched up in concentration as she held her other hand above it, pinching both fingers together until they turned white before slowly lifting the hand up. The string wavered in her palm, twitching up on end for a second before she un-clenched her hand with a gasp.

"It keeps doing that, no matter how hard I try, it doesn't work like before!" Priscilla angrily dropped the string back into her pocket. Mike, his left eye closed, nodded to himself. Without providing an answer, he slung an arm around her shoulder while lifting his staff.

"Don't worry about it." He reassured her, a pair of soul spears erupting from his plain wooden catalyst like bullets. "You're just taking the most teeny of steps with your dark soul is all, whatever your mother put in you is absolutely minute in size, not even a thousandth of a basic human dark soul. You just need to grow it with time and effort."

Priscilla let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "So I just need to keep lifting strings and small things until I get stronger?" Mike nodded once while pushing open the half open gateway to the right. "So its like a muscle then?"

"Exactly as I thought when I first learned magic." Mike nodded. "Hey, want to see something cool?" Without waiting for an answer, he pulled a roll of light red paper from his satchel, delicate swirling runes inked on its surface. In response, long twisting curls of runes along the side of his staff flared, sending small puffs of smoke into the wood as they etched themselves into it.

"That sorcery, I have never seen nor heard of its like." Priscilla said, bending down to explore the runes with her eyes. "They're so… beautiful."

"They're flame sorcery, Quelana gave me the runes and I wrote the spell in my free time, though she wanted it to stay secret, 'source of chaos' and whatnot. This is it's test run." Mike then pulled a smaller blue sheet of paper from his satchel, holding this with the red one. At the edge of the stairs they stopped, Priscilla recoiling in disgust when she saw the creatures below. A combination of human and those naked cats that look funny, the fleshy creatures looked like deformed gargoyles wielding pale, blood streaked spears that crackled every so often with golden light.

"Test one, flame javelin. Please stand back in the case that this explodes or burns too hot." When she had retreated an adequate distance Mike lifted his left arm into the air with motions reminiscent of a conductor, his staff warming in his hands as he sank magic into it. The air in front of him seemed to shake as the magic entered it, turning it first into a clear, shaky line, before it combusted with a muffled whompf. Hovering before him, a bright red and orange javelin pointed straight ahead hovered, waves of heat radiating from it. When he moved his arm to the right, a slight pull like a rubber band being stretched dragged the javelin into the space next to him, where it continued to burn brightly.

"So it doesn't explode, that's a bonus. Now, the real test." With slow movements Mike drew his arm back, the javelin following just behind his staff. Carefully he took aim, angling his staff to point the javelin down at the flesh demon below. A single, sharp flick of his wrist, and a release from his control sent the javelin on its way, a streak of red left in its wake.

The demon screeched as its wing was pierced by the fire, the smell of burnt flesh wafting up at them. Opting for a more traditional finish, Mike flicked a soul spear at the approaching creature, killing it instantly.

"Wait." Priscilla called his attention. "What use was the smaller blue spell?"

Mike seemed to suddenly remember the scroll she indicated as he looked down at his hand. "Oh yeah! Basically it's just a homing spell, it should work with the javelin if I dual cast." As he spoke his staff warmed again, blue magic forming at its tip. A pea sized speck of light shot from it like a bullet, aimed directly at the demon below to the left. As it jerked around, looking for its assailant, Mike began casting the javelin, the red-orange spear crackling loudly as it was rapidly formed.

"Let's see…" Mike flicked the spell, and like it was magnetic, it was sucked towards the demon, burning through it instantly. In its place was a black scorch mark when it faded. "Sweet. This'll make them-" Mike pointed to the visible silver archer farther off to the left, "-far easier to handle." Priscilla shuddered when she spotted the enormous bow held in the Knight's hands.

"So those are some sort of demon, I guess." Mike explained with a gesture at the fleshy creatures as they neared. Priscilla nervously held onto the railing as they descended the buttress, her eyes glued ahead. Behind her the end of her tail twisted and bent much like a cat's. Noticing her distress, Mike reached back and grabbed her hand, which was clammy and slicked with sweat. "Homeward bone if necessary, remember?" She nodded jerkily.

"Many people think the demons aren't actually real, or something, because traditionally Anor Londo is 'revealed' if you anger Gwyndolin, and they disappear along with the rest of his illusions. If that was the case, why do their spears drop?" As he talked Mike formed a football sized fireball in his palm, standing just above the end of the buttress. A flick of his wrist sent it flying into the middle of the tower in front of them, incinerating two figures hidden within. A sharp report echoed up the roofing as something hard and electric hit the ground.

"My point exactly." Mike said as they walked forward. On his right lay a bone spear softly humming with residual electricity. "Need an extra weapon?" He held the spear out to Priscilla. In her hands its crackling grew some, before falling into a calm hum.

"It's… very light, and warm." She noted as she slid the spear under the baldric for her sword.

"Second longest spear in Lordran, with a powerful lightning enchantment to boot. Basically good versus anything not a god or directly god related, so most everything left really." As he spoke Mike began dual casting again, targeting the silver knight as he lifted a flame javelin. A flick of his hand sent it spinning away towards the archer, catching it directly in the chest. Mikes face fell at the results. A dark scorch mark had appeared on the chest of the knight, but had otherwise left it completely unharmed, if a little annoyed. He swore as he pulled Priscilla behind a pillar, an explosion sending pieces of stone flying a moment later.

"Dammit! I swear someday, somehow I will make a spell that works at more than two inches!" Turning to Priscilla, he was perfectly composed again as he asked "did you get hit by any shrapnel?"

"No." She shook her head, looking a little green. "I do not enjoy being so high, however. I feel as though I may fall any moment." Mike nodded in understanding.

"Well, I don't particularly favor the idea of going up that way with the archers, so its time to start breaking stuff." Priscilla followed with one hand in his as he returned whence they came, backtracking all the way to the top of the large stairs. This time Mike went left, flicking a small fireball through the next gate at a fleshy demon there before it could start poking them.

"You might want to stand behind me, if this goes boom towards us." He indicated the smaller, human sized gate that was locked, with a latch just out of reach through the bars. From his side a heavy steel plate obscured the mechanism, an inch wide keyhole the only way to open it. With his hand outstretched Mike began channeling pyromancy into the lock, holding the energy in place in the center of the mechanism. Neither light nor heat escaped the metal box, only a weighty pressure that only he could feel. Just before he ignited it he said aloud "its going boom!" seconds before it combusted.

The gate burst open with a clattering ring of steel and stone, small pieces of shrapnel flying as far as the demon twenty feet away. Both winced slightly at the sound of the gate clanging loudly against its metal frame hard enough to send vibrations through the stone under them.

"Could you not have just burned through the locking pin more easily?" Priscilla asked as he waved a spell at the demon shambling towards them.

"Come to think of it, that would probably have been easier." Mike admitted as they descended a short distance to the left. Moments later they were back up the stairs, Priscilla looking down at a thumb joint sized piece of hard grey metal Mike had handed her. Lily blinked open a single beady eye to inspect the metal for a brief moment before returning to sleep, something she had done a whole lot of recently.

Priscilla jumped a little as a loud metal clanging sound suddenly entered her hearing, ringing from the towering doorway in front of her. Her eyes widened slightly as they turned the corner, entering a room in which an enormous grey humanoid was hunched over a tiny anvil, its tree sized hands delicately refining the edge of a human sized blade.

"First giant?" Mike asked as they neared. Priscilla nodded, not taking her eyes off the huge smith.

"Oh?" The giant's soft, if a bit loud rolling voice shook them. "Hello little people. I make things." It seemed to be inspecting them with its… whatever it used to see. As if just noticing her, the giant bent down to inspect Priscilla, who slid back a half step.

"You pretty." She seemed startled as it said this. "Pretty like pretty metal." A whooshing sound filled the room as it stuck out a hand, three tiny white specks on the tip of its finger. "You have pretty metal pretty lady."

Startled, Priscilla let the giant drop the twinkling titanite into her hands, each flattened like bright white coins. Perhaps they had been, once. Mike nudged her with a grin as they began up the stairs, whispering "I think you've got an admirer." Priscilla felt herself blush unconsciously.

"I- No!" She stuttered. "I couldn't, not he! He just- I-" Priscilla fell silent with a huff, her face red.

"Chill, I'm just messing with you. Only Oscar ever gets this flustered, and that's when I'm being particularly heretical. Gwyndolin is a close second." Mike stopped at the tops of the stairs, the whole hall laid out before them. "Anyway, he'd have to fight me first, and I've literally held back chaos through force of will."

Priscilla felt her blush deepen as they stood there, silent.


	32. Chapter XXXII

_**Aaaah. Editor slow, sorry. I rewrote half of this because reasons, so it was late. Family issues troubling. Another chapter this Wednesday, don't worry. Later taters.**_

"…and the way you took out that one knight, that was great." Oscar stopped, extending an arm to hold back the others. His group, Solaire, Laurentius, Logan, Jeremiah, and the snake humanoid were just nearing the top of the stairs leading to the great castle, clattering occasionally echoing up the stairs from below, where Siegmeyer was currently in the process of reforming a new pair of gargoyles, which had spat lightning as they passed. Oscar would have no part in it after learning what it felt like to be blasted in the face with screaming yellow electricity.

"Oh hey Oscar, fancy meeting you here!" Oscar looked around in confusion for the origin of Mike's voice, which seemed to be just coming from the air itself. "Look by the big ass door." The voice soon supplied. When he turned to the larger than life doors, Oscar nearly jumped as a hand shot through the lock over his head, waving.

"Give me a minute and I'll have these open." Mike said, his hand disappearing. "They're jammed shut." There was a slight whiff of smoke as Mike moved away from the door, feet slapping against the stone floor loudly. There was a strained groaning from off to the right, somewhere almost out of earshot, and the door creaked loudly.

"Hello sirs Oscar, Laurentius, Logan, Jeremiah, and Solaire. If you would please step back so I can open these." Priscilla looked different from the last time they'd encountered her, Oscar thought. Her hair, still tied back, was slightly disheveled, small wisps hastily tucked back behind her ears to keep them out of the way. Over her shoulder stuck the hilt of her claymore, and Oscar thought he could see a few tiny specks of dried blood on it. Of course, being knights, he and Solaire jumped on the door as soon as it was wide enough apart for them to grip, their strength pulling it to its full width in seconds.

"Hey." Oscar did jump this time, unsheathing his eastern sword so fast he could hear the air whip around it. His eyes widened fractionally, as did Mike's, but both were too late to stop the blade, its edge barely a fingers width from his neck.

"STOP!" Oscar found his arm jerking upward in its socket as his blade was yanked into the air, hard. When he looked up, nothing held it aloft except for his own hand. Priscilla had a hand up in the air, tilted toward it, a wide eyed expression betraying shock. She dropped it after a second.

"O-oh dear." Oscar nearly fainted from the looks he was given. Turning to Mike, he allowed his anger to flare fractionally. "Why did you sneak up on me?!" He asked crossly.

"Because." The undead shrugged. Sticking his head outside the great door, he looked left and right for a few seconds before returning his look to Oscar. "Where's Gwyndolin?"

"He went to collect his knight. As he explained it, when a fire keeper leaves her bonfire, it becomes as normal. Only when they die nearby do they destroy it." Mike stuck a hand up with his thumb outstretched from his fist.

"Okay." Waving at Priscilla, he continued. "We cleared out the place while you guys caught up, I take it you subdued the gargoyles?" Oscar nodded, subconsciously lifting a hand to where lightning had caught the side of his helm. "Ouch. On a better note, there's giant blacksmith in the building to your left that can smith whatever, and has a large stock of titanite. Also, Ornstein and Smough are right ahead, so when Gwyndolin gets here we can get on with the party."

Oscar looked at the building Mike had indicated with a half nod, deep in thought. "I will have to speak further with this smith later."

"That's alright. Hey, there's Gwyndolin and his gf now!" Oscar turned and, surely enough, a blue haired feminine figure was ascending the stairs, a slightly shorter gold armored figure next to him. Blue eyes glared daggers into Mike as the golden knight looked his way. Oscar tensed.

Gwyndolin pulled his fine golden staff from his robes as he neared, eyes flicking about warily. He had control of the cities creatures, that was certain, but he knew of other things that lurked in the shadows, such as the titanite demon Mike had thankfully removed for him a few minutes prior.

Oscar held himself in place through force of will as the golden knight let her hand slide to her waist, body coiling up tight like a predator about to pounce. It would end poorly for her if she did. Mike, apparently, noticed the same thing, a careful string of blinks warning Oscar. Deciding, Mike stepped forward, acting ignorant of the twitch the golden knight made, and spread a dopey grin across his face.

"Welcome to the group, friend of Gwyndolin's! I am M-" Oscar noticed the second twitch from the golden knight, and suddenly it wasn't just a twitch, and she was in motion. Her estoc slid from its sheathe in seconds, and she dove past Mike before he could blink.

* * *

From Mike's point of view, the golden knight was just as Gwyndolin had been, certain of what she believed in, and possibly unsure of their group. It appeared Priscilla had been the thing to set her off, cold eyes locked on the spot behind him and to the side.

Mike half believed, for less than a second, that Priscilla might be able to handle it. She had, after all, held Gwyndolin down and blasted him with dark magic. Then he realized the speed the knightess was moving at, and made a decision in a matter of milliseconds.

The knightess jerked to a stop just feet from Priscilla, her sword outstretched toward the half breed's chest. A startled sound came from her helmet as she was jerked backwards, an enormous heat pressed to her head. When she turned, she was met with the sight of a demon.

Mike cracked a grin at the wide eyed look the knightess had when she saw him. It hurt, holding himself entirely in flame form, but he had done it, allowing the fire in him to consume his physical form until he was reduced to a standing mass of bright red and crackling yellow. He was glad Rickert had managed to place a heat resisting enchantment on his satchel the last time he'd seen the man.

Around the bladed part of her helm his hand was held, the brass bubbling and oozing under his touch. The knightess yelped as she was yanked back, enormous force pulling her until she was next to Gwyndolin. Mike tried to talk to her in his state, but all that came out was a garbled mess of hissing and crackles, his mind unused to this new body of flame. He got an annoyed look and pointed at her sword, then at its sheath, and stepped back, his skin becoming dark.

"Ah! Hot hot hot hot!" Mike shouted, skipping over the stone underfoot, which had been warmed by his fire. Eventually he found his way back to Priscilla, who stood still as he slung an arm over her shoulder.

"Knight-woman, this is-"

"Priscilla!" The crossbreed flinched at the sound of her name grating out from the knightess' lips. Briefly she looked as though she might leap forward again, despite her semi-molten helm, until Gwyndolin's hands fell to her shoulders. His soft voice calmed her instantly.

"Please, Emelia, be calm. I told you, she means no harm, and I- I was wrong, before." The knightess, Emelia, shook at the sound of her name.

"B-but, my lady-"

"No. I-" Gwyndolin's voice cracked, which Mike found intensely amusing. He distracted himself from giggling wildly by assessing the looks the others were giving him. Laurentius and Logan both looked about ready to fall at his feet begging for information, Oscar looked momentarily startled, but not really surprised, and Solaire merely looked warm and cheerful, likely at the emotional beating Gwyndolin was getting. Jeremiah looked at him wit an appraising look before shrugging and looking back to the nflict going on.

"I was never female." Gwyndolin's voice was tiny and strained, as though he was speaking with his final breath. Emelia took a half step backwards, her voice catching.

"B- but you…! Why?" Gwyndolin bowed his head in shame.

"We gods, our birth follows certain rules." He began softly, his eyes obscured by a curtain of blue hair. "Those burning in the heat of the day are traditionally the most favorable children, but those at dawn or dusk are less so. I was born of a full moon, and as tradition states, must be female." Gwyndolin sighed.

"For whatever reason, I was neither female, nor entirely correct, as you know. I was a shame to the line of Gwyn, but was useful, for my magic. Had I not been such a powerful child, I might have been executed." Emelia let out a startled gasp.

"Now!" Gwyndolin clapped, causing many of the undead to jump. Mike let a small grin slip onto his face. "We have an enemy! Velka, once-goddess of sin, has taken it upon herself to attack these undead, who have, albeit a bit callously, done good for Anor Londo!" Emelia looked startled as Gwyndolin sank downwards, his height barely exceeding theirs. "Emelia of the darkmoon knights, will you help me defend these few, and help their struggle against Velka?"

Emelia looked conflicted, her learned norms conflicting with the overload of information she was getting. As she looked around, her eyes flicking over the undead, Gwyndolin showed a surprising side of his character by pulling out a rag from his robes, its end damp with something. He tutted like a mother scolding a muddy child as he wiped small smudges and specks of dirt from her armor, causing her to jump.

"I- I don't know." Gwyndolin faced her as she tilted her head downwards, her warped metal helm lifting into the air. "I don't- this-" she waved at the assembled undead. "It's just, you've taught me to be wary and fear the dark, and now you've turned full circle and seem almost a different person! I jus-"

Her voice cracked, and she fell silent, echoing sobs coming from her helm. It appeared she was being pulled too far in both directions, so to speak. Once more surprising Mike, Gwyndolin gently tugged her helm from her head, the metal coming off with ease. Emilia, startled, looked up just as he turned and angrily hurled the brass equipment into the streets below, likely never to be seen again.

"Mike." Gwyndolin turned to him. "If you would, use this to get Ornstein to back down. I must leave you for the time being, but, I've a small favor to ask, if you could spare some humanities."

When he slithered away, back towards the bonfire across the way, Gwyndolin held two flickering humanities in his robes, and a softly sobbing undead in his arms. Mike, in turn, held a white talisman streaked with blue and silver that Gwyndolin had pulled from his own bottomless box.

"Well, I suppose we should get on with it. Anyone else startled by the emotional roller coaster we just got to enjoy?" There were a number of jerky nods as Mike spun on a heel and began to walk, Priscilla falling into step on his right. Oscar, somehow silent in his armor, slid up to his right.

"This- this is the Ornstein we will be encountering?" He asked cautiously, glancing at the huge white doorway ahead of them every so often.

"Yep. You might not have heard of Smough, though. He was a cannibal executioner, now guardian of the Lord vessel. I have no clue what his disposition is now." They passed the stairs to the right and the left, and Mike gestured at them briefly.

"Those lead to the rest of the castle, we cleared it out already. And burned a few rooms away." Priscilla shuddered to his right, her hand finding his. She had been adamant that they remove the drake room immediately, and had helpfully organized the firebombs they'd filled it with in the tightest formation possible. The blast had been quite something.

Oscar frowned, but they were nearing the top of the stairs already, so he ignored that comment. He glanced through the grating of the ginormous metal doorway to the side as Mike headed for the fog, spotting a large golden figure at the far end of the hall. A shudder went through him, the figure had to be thrice his size at the least. Still, he followed Mike unwaveringly when he walked into the room, Solaire and the mages not far behind.

The room was what one would expect of the gods. Easily as tall as the cathedral, and just about its length, the upper walkways and ceiling were held aloft with columns of stone as wide as a man was tall. Now that he could see the room fully, Oscar was startled at the sight in front of him. Smough was sitting on the floor with his hammer across his lap, unmoving, while Ornstein paced tensely, arms jerking about wildly as he seemed to converse with his giant partner. His head jerked up as Solaire took his first step, making the loudest sound of their group.

"YOU!" Ornstein made for them at a hasty pace, his posture tense and angry. Oscar swallowed dryly as he saw that he and Smough dwarfed them by almost four feet. At the back of the hall Smough looked up and began to rise, a dry, throaty chuckle emerging from his helmet.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!" The golden knight exclaimed. Mike instinctively shouted "run!" as Ornstein kicked off the ground fifteen feet in front of them, his spear shooting into the space they'd just occupied. Oscar felt the undead clumsily bump into him as he jumped away from the golden weapon.

"Hey, chill! I've got Gwyndolin's word that I needn't fight you!" This gave Ornstein pause, before he turned and ran straight at Mike, assuming him to be the leader of their group. As had Gwyndolin, his feet screamed on the tiled floor of the hall as he caught sight of Priscilla.

"YOU! TRAITOROUS CROSSBREED. WHY HAVE YOU LEFT YOUR PAINTING?!" Mike sighed, taking the talisman from his pocket. Ornstein glanced at it, before screaming in outrage.

"AND YOU HAVE STOLEN FROM OUR PRINCESS!" Just as expected. Mike kicked upward this time, ducking under a swing from Ornstein as he neared. Priscilla skittered backwards behind him, her staff clutched in her hands shakily. Her right hand twitched toward her sword often, but the blade was just too weak for this use.

"Hey!" Mike sent a power within enhanced punch at the lion Knight's head, the clang of his gauntlet impacting echoing through the room. Smough, just a few feet away now, confusedly looked between Oscar's group and the assault on his partner, uncertainty radiating from him.

"Just talk with us dammit!" He yelled into Ornstein's ear in passing, before kicking his head forward from behind. Mikes eyes widened as a swift spinning movement from the knight caught him in the side, knocking the breath from him as he was lifted into the air. He spun in the air for a few weightless seconds, before smashing into the granite wall at the far end of the room with bone shattering force. There he collapsed into a heap at the base of a statue he couldn't discern in the few seconds before his eyes closed. A gasp escaped Priscilla and she bolted to his side, bending down to pull him into her lap.

"ENOUGH!" Priscilla flinched at the sudden, ear splitting assertive voice that cracked through the room like a whip, giving even Ornstein pause. Smough backed away at a wave of the slimmer knight's hand, as the red plumed man approached Oscar, who slowly walked forward to meet him midway through the room. Even towering above him by almost a third, Ornstein looked small in comparison to the proud way Oscar held himself.

"I am Oscar of Astora, ten years trained knight in the King's service! Ornstein, knight of Lady Gwyndolin, I request an honorable duel with you, terms undecided!" The challenge seemed to stretch time, the world slowing and dimming as Oscar and Ornstein stared each other down. The taller knight held himself rigidly, but moved with a fluid grace not seen in Oscar's slow swagger across the room. The two glared for almost a minute, unmoving, before a tiny nod shook the plumage of Ornstein's helm.

"I… accept." Growled the lion knight, drawing his spear into a fighting stance. "The terms are to the death, no interference," he glared at Mikes limp form, "and it returns to its painting."

Oscar frowned. "I apologize, but the painting was burned by some dark force as we arrived. She and the one you've already fought barely escaped."

A disappointed sound escaped Ornstein's through when he heard of their escape. "Then Anor Londo claims custody over the pair, to be decided by Lady Gwyndolin."

Oscar thought for a moment, a calculative look crossing his face, before he nodded, barely. "These terms I accept, excluding death to each other. I find no satisfaction in senseless killing." For a moment, it looked as though senseless killing was about to happen from Ornstein, before he sucked in a deep breath and forced himself to nod.

"Ten paces. Prepare yourself, knight of Astora."

A tiny smile crept onto Oscar's face as he took a moment to approach the others. Solaire was the first to speak in outrage. "Oscar! Why in the world did you challenge him so?! It is obvious he has powers unknown to us, such is simply smart for a guard. I wouldn't put it beyond the big one to attack either!" The rest nodded in agreement.

"Mike is comatose, again, though I question the legitimacy this time." He glanced over his shoulder, only to discover Priscilla struggling to lift the undead.

"Never mind. Still, Ornstein is a knight, and one of Gwyn's no less. He is a man of pride, much of it. A simple explanation will not suffice, even were Gwyndolin to intercede I daresay. He requires a good beating," Oscar cracked a wide grin. "And I would be quite happy to prove myself stronger than the head of Gwyn's knights."

* * *

Footsteps, heavy ones. Oscar sent an echoing clack through the air with every step, Ornstein much more silent behind him. He had to assume the other knight was acting honorably, else he would have to fight dirty himself. When he had proceeded to take thirty steps, he spun on his heel, tensing. Ornstein stood sixty paces from him, glowering as he lowered his spear into a fighting position. Similarly, Oscar brought out his crest shield and family blade, loosely gripping both as he waited for Ornstein to move. A weak voice interrupted the two, however, coming from the right of them.

"No… Oscar, don't die, just for me…" Mikes left hand was reached out from where he lay across Priscilla's legs, his right loosely propping him up.

"I'm undead." Oscar deadpanned. Confusion rippled across Mike's face for a half second before his eyes slammed shut and he fell back, his hand slapping against the polished floor loudly.

Ornstein, still distracted by Mike's momentary display, was forced to catch the edge of Oscar's sword on the edge of his arm, the undead pivoting his wrist to keep the edge on his armor for as long as possible. Somehow, in the nine or ten seconds Mike had distracted them, Oscar had silently and quickly covered the twenty paces between them!

A devilish grin settled onto Oscar's usual mask of a face as he spun on the smooth floor, his gauntlets sparking as he slid a few extra feet. Some unusual feeling surged through his breast, sending unimaginable bursts of sheer, overwhelming power through his being. He gripped this feeling with his mind, allowing it to spread through him for a few moments, enough to kick off the floor and under a spinning lash from Ornstein's spear. Despite his newfound speed, the edge of the weapon grazed his arm, sending electrified sparks flying

Ornstein jabbed harshly at him before he could recover, a glancing blow sending him toppling to the floor. Anger briefly flared in Oscar, twisting his face into a menacing snarl for a brief moment as he propelled himself upwards with his arms. For a few seconds he felt around in himself, before grabbing a strangling hold on the unknown energy. Under the scrutiny of his will the power erupted through him, sending him skyward when he stepped towards Ornstein. The knight attempted a sudden, loose jab at him, only to be deflected by the shield in Oscar's hand. His sword clashed with a screaming noise against golden armor as Oscar brought it down on Ornstein's right shoulder, warping the metal under the sword. Miraculously, the fine blade held against the onslaught of forces contained in its tiny edge, carving a long gash into Ornstein's armor before he pulled back, ducking under a wide swing of his spear.

Ornstein cried out as his hand spasmed, sending his spear flying backwards at Smough, who regarded it with boredom. Oscar was sent flying as a large, golden foot dented the front of his chestplate, leaving a triangular print on it. Oscars shield was sent flying like a discus as his arm was crushed under the force of him falling and Ornstein's kick combined. Smough chuckled once at the scene.

Oscar winced as his shield smashed into the wall next to Priscilla and mike with enough force to roll its edge, leaving a silvery grey line on the wall where it'd hit. Mike jumped at the sound, looking around rapidly before collapsing again. "Good job… Artorias." He muttered before nodding off.

Oscar grit his teeth as he rose, his left arm screaming in protest as it loosely fell to his side. Steam curled off his shoulder pads, he tried to ignore it. Ornstein hadn't relented yet, however, and had retrieved his spear while Oscar was down. In a sudden reveal the lion knight jabbed his spear straight at him from fifteen feet away, a thick lance of yellow lightning bursting from its tip. Oscar was hard pressed to avoid it when it neared, bereft of his shield and barely able to move his left side, he was luck to have fallen to his knees when he did, his left giving out first. He groaned and stood when the lightning had harmlessly passed overhead.

Ornstein roared in outrage. So that was why he was called the lion knight. Mike took a moment to jump back to reality, his face confused for a second before locking onto Oscar. "I said… show me your war face private." Priscilla tutted and drew him back into a laying position.

Ornstein went for another jab at Oscar, this one at his lower half, which he couldn't so easily move. However, his shoulder twinged just the right way at just the right moment to accidently send the weapon straight into the air, before coming down across the hall with a loud clang. With a scream the outraged knight kicked off towards Oscar, who defensively raised his sword at the assault.

They came together with the sound of screaming metal and heavy steps, Oscar ducking under a swipe from Ornstein at the last second while drawing his sword across his chest. The metal made no indication of even being scratched, and looking inward, Oscar could feel the power in him waning. He had to finish this within a reasonable time frame.

Ornstein followed up with a left fisted punch that knocked Oscar backwards a foot and a half. Thinking fast, he ducked inter the follow up, his sword coming down hard on the knights shoulder, which was the only exposed part of him aside from his eyes, which he wasn't too keen on stabbing.

Ornstein jerked, but didn't scream when blood began pouring down his chest. He growled lowly as he slammed his left arm against the floor, breathing heavily. Oscar, his eyes never leaving the knight, took the few precious seconds he was allowed to inhale deeply, steam now rolling from his shoulders in clouds.

" _HEY_!" Oscar jerked up at the sharp yell from Priscilla, only to find the tip of a golden spear barely a hairs breadth from his face. As though possessed the spear jerked upwards in Ornstein's arms, flailing around madly before escaping his grasp on it. With a swift spin it crashed into his helm with the flat of its blade, sending him stumbling backwards from the blow.

"You agreed on no deaths! I had thought you honorable, Ornstein!" Priscilla stepped forward, both hands outstretched before her. A sudden pair of metallic footsteps broke the silence, followed by an unusual, papery sound from the direction of the entrance. A wide, Cheshire grin split her face, and she dropped the spear at his feet with a clang.

"Ah ah ah!" Mike caught Priscilla this time, her eyes glossing over before falling shut. He gently lifted her into a bridal hold, walking away from both opponents and Smough with a dismissive air. "Hey Ornstein, that sounds like Gwyndolin coming! Wonder how he'll react to your refusal of orders!"

"This one's for you Oscar!" The knight jerked his head up as Mike called his name, crouching. When he jumped, it was at a sharp angle towards the balcony above, a pair of loud cracks echoing through the room like trees falling.

"THAT WAS ONLY SUPPOSED TO BE THE LEGS. SHIT."

Oscar heard a muffled thump before Mike went silent. A moment later, soft voices began echoing through the hall. Under his helm, Ornstein went pale as Gwyndolin appeared.


	33. Chapter XXXIII

_**Sorry about the late! My editors haven't been getting back to me too quickly this week so I've been editing alone for a while. Can't say for sure what next week will bring, hopefully another chapter on time for once.**_

"How _did_ you jump that far?" Oscar asked when he finally caught up to his undead companion. Mike sat next to a bonfire on the balcony above the hall with a small book in hand, occasionally jabbing his quill into his bottomless box for more ink. He looked to be writing in traditional black as Oscar neared.

"I don't want to talk about it." Mike said, his tone conveying a serious note. Oscar shrugged and sat near the fire, noting its high flame.

"You had it all planned out, didn't you?" Mike glanced up for a moment, before nodding.

"When I saw Ornstein and how he was acting, I realized he was too stubborn, too proud to back down. I daresay he wouldn't have listened had Gwyndolin come with us even. He needed his pride knocked down a notch, and I think you've done just that." Mike finished his speech with a small flourish on something in his book. He held it to the side for the ink to dry as he turned to Oscar.

"Did the spell work?" He asked curiously. Oscar frowned in confusion, he hadn't seen Mike cast a-

"Oh." Understanding dawned on him like a wave crashing on a beach. "What was it that you cast on me? I haven't felt like that since the first time I was kissed by a girl."

"A spell from Blighttown called 'Power Within.' Roughly a thirty percent increase of all physical and nonphysical strength. It also makes you sweat like hell, not in a good way."

"Ah, so that was how you jumped like that. It has a limit then, that's at least a little comforting." Oscar sat back with a breath, letting his estus refill at the fire.

"What do you think they're doing down there?" Mike asked as a clang echoed up from below. There was a muffled yell and the sound of Gwyndolin angrily barking out words.

"Probably the guardians are being yelled at. Gwyndolin looked quite irate when I left. Stomped his snakes." The sentence was out for less than ten seconds before a snort burst from Mike.

"Stomped his snakes?!" Oscar allowed a small chuckle as Mike fell to laughter, leaning back against a railing to steady himself. Priscilla, laid across his lap, shifted at the movement. Lily was nowhere to be seen, curled up somewhere in Priscilla's clothes.

"Ahhh. I needed that. Thank you Oscar, for being you." Mike smiled warmly.

"What do you mean, being me?!" Oscar asked suddenly. Mike was saved from further discussion by Solaire and the mages, who burst from the rightmost elevator. Seconds later, Ornstein, Gwyndolin, and Emelia ascended the leftmost one, Smough and Siegmeyer suspiciously absent.

Mike's answer came in the form of a towering humanoid that wordlessly ran out from behind Solaire, trumping his height by nearly three inches. Oscar jerked back as it slid to a stop in front of Priscilla, crouching to inspect her. Mikes right hand shot up in a 'hold' gesture as the knight went for his sword.

Mike looked to Gwyndolin for an answer. "I didn't do this." Gwyndolin gestured at the snake. "Smough resisted me, and he had to be removed. It merely landed the final blow. The large one wandered off into the city with his pets." Mike looked back and forth between the snake, Gwyndolin, and the hall's entrance. The god shrugged and turned left, gesturing at the doors leading to the Lord vessel. Ornstein and Emelia jumped on them equally fast.

Looking at him, Mike noted a slight change in Gwyndolin as he passed the undead, who had collected around the bonfire. The god stood just as high as before, a head or two taller than they, but less than Priscilla had before, yet his demeanor seemed to have changed imperceptibly. His skin seemed smoother, if a little more fleshed out, and he held himself with more grace than before. Mike suspected it to be a combination of the knights and the humanity.

"Is she ok?" It was Jeremiah who'd asked this, now crouched beside the snake near Mike. He nodded.

"Just overspent magic, I'm sure you understand, and possibly you too." Mike said, looking the snake in the eye when he was done. A moment passed, each thinking, before it nodded, once. A stiff nod, as though it hadn't before. Or it disliked him. Maybe both. Probably both.

Jeremiah turned to the snake caster as though he had just noticed it, a twitch betraying his feelings towards it. "Oh! I hadn't known you casted! Apologies, if I've been a little distant. I've grown to expect fear from others ever since I was gripped by chaos."

The snake caster stared, its emotions veiled behind an unresponsive visage, before it nodded seriously, much less stiff and cold than the one it'd given Mike. It held up a single clawed hand and summoned a small bolt of lightning, which went flying towards the ceiling when the snake opened its fingers. Jeremiah seemed delighted at the display of magic.

"Amazing! Let's see if the other two will speak with us further!" The two walked away less awkwardly than they had approached, the snake not shooting wary glances at everyone else for once.

Mike was startled when an enormous yellow object appeared in front of him, Ornstein gently lowering it to the floor. The lion knight paused as he rose up to his full height, eyes locked with Mike's. The two stared for a while, unspeaking.

"Chosen Undead, Mike, I must… apologize, for my previous actions." Surprisingly, when he wasn't belting out insults and challenges, Ornstein had a gentle, rolling voice that was rather deep.

"No harm no foul." Mike said. "Though, I might need a hand getting this in my bag. Any How to Lordvessel instruction booklet in this thing?" Mike rapped the stone bowl with the end of his staff, producing a dull echo. Priscilla stirred, conveniently rolling to the side, and off of him, Lily making a small squeak somewhere in the folds of her shirt. Briefly, a flicker of a glare was present in Ornstein's eyes, only to be quenched by an emotionless gaze in seconds.

"No. All that is required is a minute amount of your blood, and any other containing a lord soul. That will likely be you. The vessel acts as a connection to the first flame, allowing they with the lord souls to enter its realm. Nothing more is required." Mike tested the weight of the vessel with both hands before snapping a power within into being. Smoke rose from his clothing as he gripped both edges of the bowl and picked it up off the floor, heavily dropping it onto his bottomless box. The box stretched to fit the bowl as it fell before snapping back into its normal size. Ornstein, his job done, turned and left wordlessly.

"Alright, I think its time we get this thing moving!" Mike startled Oscar by jumping to his feet, carefully avoiding trampling Priscilla. With Oscar's help he managed to lift her into a bridal hold, her tail limply dangling next to him.

"Logan, Laurentius, snake caster, and Jeremiah, you guys are sticking together for now?" Jeremiah craned his neck over the two others to get a view of Priscilla, making sure she was fine before nodding.

"We still wish to follow you to duke Seath's." Logan said, excitement leaking into his normally even tone.

Laurentius nodded. "Yeah, you said you knew a sister of chaos, but Seath… he's legendary, and he's right here!"

"If he's sane." Mike reminded him. "You four, head outside, cross the spiraling bridge, and go up the moving platform across the way. Hook a right, don't touch the chests, avoid the giant knights, and you'll be at Seath's front door. Wait for me there."

Three undead and a lizard humanoid nodded, and turned for the descending platform they'd come from. That left Solaire, Oscar, and Priscilla, who was still asleep.

"Mike!" Said undead jumped as a jolly voice yelled straight into his right ear. When he turned, Solaire was standing leaning against a railing, his helmet off. Honestly, the guy could be his half brother from how similar they appeared. They had the same sturdy features, though Mike was slightly shorter, and had darker hair.

"I must thank you for sharing this journey as you have so far, but alas, I am afraid I must leave." A slightly sad tone entered his voice. "Though I wish to follow, I'm afraid I have my own search to continue!"

Mike snapped the fingers on his left hand. "Your own sun, right?"

"Indeed! I will search for this myself, however. Certainly, your advice and knowledge is sound, but I find my adventurous spirit is craving more, a search on my own terms. You understand, I hope?"

Mike grinned. "If you're asking for a leave of duty, you don't have to. You and every other person here, sans maybe Petrus and Velka, are wonderful people, and I have zero control over any of you." He lowered his voice. "If I were you, however, do not let the red eyed bugs in Izalith touch you. Kill them with arrows, lightning, whatever, just don't touch them or let them touch you."

Oscar looked at him with a curious expression before nodding. "This I can do. Thank you again, for that which you've done for me." Mike waved as the knight took the next cycle of the elevator to the hall, disappearing in seconds.

"Just like the beginning." Mike said with a sigh. "A lot quieter, and a lot more lonely."

"Hey!" Mike almost dropped Priscilla as she poked him in the chest. "What about me?"

"Uh." Mike blanked as Priscilla leaned forward to stare him down, a playful smile on her face. Oscar suppressed a chuckle as Mike became red and very obviously nervous in a matter of seconds.

"We're…" Mike cleared his throat, and gently lowered Priscilla to her feet. "Seath's. Were bringing the four mages there, then heading off to Oolacile. Chatting up Seath may or may not be included."

Mention of her father wiped the smile from Priscilla's face in a heartbeat. "O-ok…" Resolve quickly hardened her, her posture becoming straight as she gripped the handle of her claymore. "I'm ready."

Mike snorted. If only he had a camera. "No, you're not. Come here." Priscilla followed as Mike walked up to the bonfire, gesturing for her and Oscar to come closer.

"You two, grab my hands." Oscar frowned, but nonetheless gripped his hand in his own. Priscilla blushed but gently held his right. "If either of you feel like you're going to puke at any point, try aiming it into the bonfire."

"What-"

"Huh?"

Two voices were drowned out as the three disappeared in a flash, heavy flakes of ash falling from where they'd been. Gwyndolin, hearing the sound, opened one of the re-closed wooden doors, craning his neck to look around. A shrug, and he was gone, leaving the hall in silence.

* * *

Anastasia nervously gripped the hilt of her sword, a curved saber fixed to her belt. Her loose leather armor fluttered some in the wind, the smell of sea spray dominating her nose. Before her, Griggs, decked out in the loose clothes he always wore, was in the middle of casting a spell, its blue glow illuminating the night.

Altin, Mildred, and Crestfallen battled a sea serpent before them, slashing and defending as necessary. As a group they stood on the edge of a great ship, rocking harshly in the serpent's onslaught.

"Ha!" Griggs, his spell cast, let loose a large bolt of blue magic, burning a crater in the side of the serpent's head. A screech, and it dove for them, ignoring the fighters.

Anastasia was faster. Dashing forward in the blink of an eye, she was at it before it came halfway to Griggs, who already had a second spell in the works. With a quick flick of her wrist her blade came free of its sheath, curved edge drawing a dark red line across the serpent. It screamed but could not follow as she vaulted over it, a flurry of slashes following.

"Holy shit you guys are nerds. Swords and Souls?! I didn't even know you could write Mildred." Mike ducked as a cleaver shot at him with the speed of a helicopter blade, flying somewhere deep into the shrine with a clang.

"I could steal that." Mike said, glancing backwards.

"You wouldn't." Mildred replied, not looking up from the small stack of papers in her hands, which were surprisingly clean.

The scene mike had teleported into at the shrine was almost comical, enough that Mike had actually watched them go at it for a while as Oscar and Priscilla recovered from teleporting. Mildred, Altin, Crestfallen, Griggs, and Anastasia sat in a small circle lower in the shrine, Anastasia moved forward from her cell. Each held a handful of papers atop books and other flat surfaces, Mildred's now somewhere off in the shrine. Griggs held a quartet of unusually numbered and symboled dice, and each had quills and ink near them.

"Oh yeah. Huge nerd, this one." Mike said as he leaned over Crestfallen, who sat on a loose brick near the stairs.

It seemed to click about three seconds after that sentence, and for Crestfallen, it almost looked like he was about to show some emotion. After a brief internal battle he sighed and returned to his papers. The others, however, rose to meet Mike with cries of 'you're back!' and 'stop looking at my hands! Is it so surprising I cleaned them?!'

"Yes-" A glare from Mildred. "I am back, and so is Oscar, and a new companion. We picked up a few more friends since Sens."

Oscar and Priscilla chose that time to descend, both still a little green. Priscilla hadn't been so jarred, but Oscar had almost collapsed when they'd reappeared. Both waved slightly.

"Everyone knows Oscar, but this-" Mike grabbed Priscilla by her hand and pulled her forward. "This is Priscilla, crossbreed to Seath the Scaleless and Velka. Anyone has complaints, voice them now so I can start hitting you." Priscilla's eyes widened at the sight of so many new undead, while the undead group and Anastasia's eyes widened at the girl nervously standing before them, hair done up in a loose tail. Not to mention her tail, which was nervously twined around her own ankle.

Altin approached first, bending to one knee when he was close enough. Taking her hand in his own, he laid a small kiss on it. "M'lady, you are a sight for undead eyes."

Mike smacked him upside the head. "She's called for." Simple, and to the point.

"Damn." Mildred said. "Lucky bastard." Priscilla blushed deep crimson at her implication, before whipping her head to Mike.

"Called for?!" Mike nodded.

"Duh. I got first dibs. 'Knight saving fair maiden from evil' sort of thing." Priscilla's blush reached her ears.

"Hey." Mike looked up as a clean hand jabbed him in the shoulder. "You going anywhere particularly dangerous soon?"

Mike flapped a hand over his heart. "Priscilla." He said in a mock feminine voice. "I'm sorry, but Mildred, oh how she cares for me!"

A punch, hard. "No dumbass, I'm bored. As shit. You wouldn't believe how boring tight ass-" she shot a thumb at Griggs, "can be. I want to kill stuff."

"How does old Oolacile sound?" Mike asked.

"What's it got?"

"Stone golems wielding man sized mauls, Artorias, a real dragon, the original abyss, Manus, and a lion/goat/snake hybrid." Mike finished counting his fingers.

"Deal. When and where?"

"Darkroot basin, I'll arrive in…" He glanced at his wrist, thinking. "Probably a few hours? Not sure. There's stuff to kill there I guess, though I already got the hydra and knight of Havel."

Alright." Mildred shrugged. Priscilla pulled back as she walked by, her presence intimidating. Up in the shrine, the sound of climbing commenced.

Griggs was speechless. "Old… Oolacile?! How?! Where?! When?!" Mike winced at the exclamation marks mashed between words.

"Like I said, Darkroot basin, a few hours. Long story short, dark magic bends space and time, and Manus, the original dark lord, has a lot of it. We bring something he lost near his place in space, he pulls us through time to back then. Its actually kind of gross. Anyway, first I'm going to Seath's archives, because that's where the key to all this is, and I wouldn't mind talking, if he wants to."

Griggs, ever tactful, nodded as Mike talked before getting out a book to write notes in. His immediate follow-up was such. "Madame?"

Priscilla looked surprised at the attention. "Y-yes?"

Griggs squinted at her a little before nodding. "Might I inspect your horns? I've never been able to inspect dragon physiology before, and what few samples of scale and bone we had in Vinheim were kept under strict lock and key from everyone but the highest members of society."

Mike snorted out a laugh as Priscilla turned beet red. "I-" She shook her head, blushing madly. Griggs shrugged and returned to note taking. Behind them, Oscar had returned to the fire, nodding to each undead before he went. There he began the process of repairing his gear as he waited.

"Hey, calm down. He's just a curious scholar, nothing more." Mike reassured Priscilla, looping an arm around her shoulders before turning her around towards the stairs. She nodded as they ascended.

"I know…" She mumbled. "Its just… I always thought humans would hate me. I'm crosbreed between their gods and their god's enemies, I had the power to drain life through touch… Certainly, the gods hated me at least."

"Don't worry." Mike said softly. "Humans back then probably weren't smart, and maybe they would've been quite adverse to you. Now? There's few, I wouldn't doubt them bowing down to you as a goddess. You certainly look the part, flowing white hair and silver scales."

"You think so?" Priscilla asked, her eyes round.

"Probably? I can't say for sure, but just from the reaction of the undead you've met so far, yeah. Honestly, half the problems with Lordran is because of the gods, so they've little right to judge anyway."

As they approached the bonfire a shrill yell cracked through the air, causing Mike and Priscilla to flinch. Oscar perked up as a light tan robed figure shot from the broken down church.

Like something out of a trashy romance film Oscar tightly hugged Rhea while spinning in a circle, the maiden burying her head in his shoulder. After a moment the reason was apparent as his helmet fell loose, and Mike turned away just as she found his mouth.

"Uh." Priscilla deadpanned, glancing back and forth between the couple and Mike.

"Rhea of Thorolund, her and a few others came here to be lead into the catacombs to find an ancient rite. They were abandoned, Oscar saved them while I was in Blighttown with memory loss. Apparently, they hit it off quite well."

Oscar finally broke away, muttering something quiet to Rhea. "I- I apologize Mike, I-"

"Pbbbbbbbt." Mike blew a raspberry at him. "Shush. Enjoy your time with her, I've couple errands to run anyway. Rhea, he needs to be walking when I get back." Crimson spread up both their faces as Mike led Priscilla away, confusion on her face.

"What do you mean, you need him walking? Why wouldn't he be?" Oh, so innocent was she.

"Innuendo." Priscilla scrunched up her face, before shaking her head.

"I don't understand."

"Oh you're innocent. Stay this way forever. It's adorable. Now let's go see Kingseeker Frampt."


	34. Chapter XXXIV

_**So uhh, finally earning that romance tag. On another note, just finished watching The Dragon Prince, and I highly advise for anyone with Netflix. It's 3d animated by the people that made Avatar the Last Airbender, and it's great.**_

 _ **I'll try and do better editing, because my team has been bogged down with life recently. Hopefully I'm not shit at this whole mushy thing.**_

"Kingseeker!"

Frampt inclined his head in a small nod. "Chosen. I believe your name is Mike?" To Priscilla, "and greetings to you, Priscilla. I felt your painting burn, and am sorry for your loss." Priscilla nodded stiffly, her eyes glued to the snake.

"So." Mike placed his hands on his hips. "What's your opinion in all of this?" He asked, spreading his hands.

"I believe you know what I will say, undead. I have heard of you and felt your passing." He paused, thinking. "Indeed, I enjoy flame more than dark, but my siblings do not. If you will choose dark, then so be it. The flame might reappear in a year, or a thousand years, but like the moon and the sun, they cycle will always be, for its power will never fully disappear, merely wane, spread to the world. Then, it will coalesced again, much like a puddle might evaporate, but the water will remain, changed but there."

Mike nodded, his eyes widened. "Surprising. I expected a bit of a harsher look, or something along those lines. I don't suppose you can bring us down to the kiln without doing the gross pick up thing?" Frampt shook his head slowly.

"Damn. Priscilla, close your eyes, and don't open them until I say." Priscilla, still recovering from earlier, Nodded and closed her eyes tightly. She jerked as Mike wrapped her in a tight hug, before the world went dark around them.

* * *

"Ugh! Nope, we jump next time!" Mike shook himself as he broke away from Priscilla, before briefly bursting into flame. The entrance to the kiln grew muggy as snake saliva was rapidly evaporated.

"What happened?" Priscilla asked, looking at her arms, which were the only slicked part of her.

"Frampt brought us down here, after this we can just jump and the Lord vessel catches us. Give me a moment to place the thing down and we can get rolling to the past." As he said this Mike placed his bag on the floor and reached an arm inside, catching the edge of the Lord vessel deep within. With his free hand he cast a power within and then stuck that one inside too, finding the edge and following it to the bowl's sides.

The Lord vessel seemed to fill the dark chamber with its presence as Mike waddled up the stairs to its resting place, where he lowered it gently, before stepping back. Golden light filled the room, causing all but Frampt to wince back.

"Crap, we forgot Oscar!" Mike looked up to the dark ceiling as though the knight might come plummeting down at his words. "That's alright, we'll test the jumping next time. Priscilla, blood time!"

Priscilla nervously stepped up to the vessel, looking inside at the golden flame crackling there. She jumped as Mike threaded his hand in hers, his skin warm. "Together?" He asked.

"Together." She nodded. They brought their arms above the bowl, and in a single, quick motion Mike pulled his dagger across both, opening them just above the wrist. Priscilla flinched at the cold touch of metal, but Mike's presence kept her from jerking back. A single trickle of blood fell from them, running down the side of the bowl before encountering the central fire with a hiss. Both Mike and Priscilla flinched as a spark seemed to burst in their chests, before disappearing just as quickly as it'd come. When Priscilla retracted her arm to look at her wrist a dried spot of blood was all there was to show she'd been cut.

"Later Frampt!" Priscilla waved along with Mike with a small smile as Mike extended a hand above the bowl, both of them bursting into ash at the same time.

Above, Oscar frowned as the bonfire flared, flames growing tall and distinctly human shaped., when they receded, Mike and Priscilla were standing side by side, hands together.

"We're go!" Mike announced as he approached, extending a thumb towards a crumbling building behind him. "Just need you to go throw some blood in the Lord vessel and we can crack on with the souls. You'll find teleporting to be available once your own there, we'll wait here."

A sigh from the knight. "I will return shortly." Rhea held onto his arm for a few seconds more as they parted, longing in her eyes. Mike half expected the knight to turn and shout something, or perhaps sweep the maiden into his arms and dash off. Neither happened, and soon he was gone, Frampt's growling voice echoing over the ruins not long after.

"He is a truly wonderful man." Rhea spoke softly, eyes glued to the spot he'd disappeared behind. "Don't you agree?"

Mike nodded. "I'll say it like this, saving him from the asylum is one of my greatest achievements." Rhea bobbed her head in agreement.

"He's just… amazing! He is skilled, always prepared for anything, and he's o handsome!" Mike agreed automatically, knowing her explanation. It didn't take an expert to tell Rhea was very obviously star struck, and Oscar seemed to mirror her feelings, albeit a little more tamely.

The knight returned then, and Mike realized Frampt's voice had gone silent a minute before. He stood from the bonfire as he reattached his right gauntlet, snapping it into place on his armor.

"Rhea." The priestess had dove onto him in an instant, clinging tightly. Oscar threaded an arm around her shoulders and had to pry her off, much to her discomfort. Mike and Priscilla slid back to give them space as Oscar spoke to her.

"They are quite the good fit for each other." Priscilla noted as the two softly conversed just out of hearing range. Mike nodded in agreement.

"I would offer to bring her along as a healer, but there are just too many negatives to that plan, especially in the archives." Priscilla shuddered just thinking about them.

"She is young, inexperienced, and obviously smitten on him. She would be distracted scared, and likely unable to efficiently cast. Not that she is even necessarily necessary." Mike agreed entirely.

"She also meets her end there." Priscilla's head jerked up instantly. "I already changed that. Normally, the chosen undead saved her from Nito's domain, where she has been abandoned. Oscar being there caused her to be abandoned earlier, and she won't make the choices she does 'normally.' As long as she doesn't go up to the church or get killed by-" Mike paused, his eyes widening. "Shit! Normally, even if she returns from the domain, either Seath kidnaps her, or the guy that was leading her group, Petrus, comes back to kill her. She's been in Firelink shrine doing her own thing for days!"

Priscilla's eyes widened as understanding came over her. "She must join the others then. Two swordsmen and a sorcerer must be enough protection from a single man."

"Good thought. We'll tell her when they're done." Priscilla nodded and they fell silent, content to watch Oscar and Rhea cling to each other with soft words and arms.

"You two are quite adorable together." Mike airily commented when they finally broke apart, slowly coming near. "It'll be a bestselling romance novel, I'll be famous!"

"We are close, yes." Oscar said stiffly. Mike slapped his back as they turned to the bonfire.

"Lighten up man, I'm just messing with you. I half wish I knew how you'd react in the military where I come from. They'd make you crazy with jokes ten times worse than this on a good day." Oscar stiffly nodded, obviously still annoyed, or some such. Rhea hugged him once more before Oscar had to push her away, his head angled down.

"Rhea." Mike grinned, the parent-tone had come out. "You can't come with us right now, its too dangerous, and you're still recovering from before."

Spitfire she was, it seemed. Hands went to hips as Rhea switched from sugar coated to sharp in a matter of seconds. "Oh, so its because I'm an inexperienced kid, is that it? I memorized every healing miracle available in Thorolund, and helped you through the catacombs, and I'm inexperienced!?"

Mike flinched at the shrill yell that came from her. Oscar kept his cool better than he, gently laying a hand on her shoulder. "Mike, care to explain some of the Duke's experiments?" He casually said over his shoulder.

"Well, mostly he works with magic and draconic stuff, creates lizard like stuff a bunch. In the case of young women, particularly maidens, he kidnaps them and turns them into inhuman monsters for no apparent reason, just kind of does. You'll likely go insane from the torture before that happens, so you needn't worry." Rhea's eyes widened with every word, looking between Mike and Oscar, who nodded sagely.

"I don't want anything of that sort to happen to you, so please, consider staying here, at least for now." Mike jumped in afterword.

"And consider joining the undead below! Petrus is still on the loose, he might try and attack you to clear up loose ends." A frown then, as something came to mind. "And, if Anastasia is attacked by Lautrec again you could help her too."

Rhea thought for a few moments, before turning her head slightly to look towards the stairs. Past those, the archtree Mike had created grew out of the side of the cliffs, towering far overhead. "I… suppose…" She mused. "To help Anastasia…"

Oscar smiled, a wan thing, and gently pushed her towards the stairs. Mike grabbed him, his hand already in Priscilla's, and jabbed the bonfire with his foot. Rhea was already thinking about the undead below as ash fell to the ground behind her, too quiet to hear.

Www

"Oh, the door's down!" Laurentius exclaimed. Midway through a conversation about archaic magic, Logan and Jeremiah paused to glance at the white arch that had seconds prior held a wall of golden light, which had blocked every attempt they had made to get through or around it.

"I suppose it is." Logan agreed. Licking his thumb, he extended the moist digit towards the arch. His face scrunched for a minute, before he dried his thumb and nodded. "No airflow, obviously the far side wasn't blocked off, nor was the magic rapidly released. Something just purposefully deactivated whatever that spell was."

The snake, curiously enough, nodded. It pointed to the arch with two hands before forming a small crackle of electricity at its fingertips.

"I believe she implies that the magic was perhaps lightning based." Jeremiah translated. He had gotten fairly adequate in the hour they had talked. The snake shook her, for it was a her, head, pointing at Anor Londo, then her feet, where she made wriggling motions with twenty fingers at once.

"Ah, Gwyndolin." She nodded, and Jeremiah continued. "The gods then? Or some miracle based barrier?" The snake held up two fingers.

"A miracle then. That narrows down those who could've created the barriers to the gods, particularly powerful ones, for them to have lasted so long." Laurentius placed a hand on his chin as he spoke aloud. The group was silent for a few minutes, each following their own paths of thought.

Voices broke the silence a while later, accompanied by the quiet patter of feet on stone, and then feet on dirt. Mike, Priscilla, and Oscar appeared from the buildings of Anor Londo, Mike looking slightly winded as he tucked something metallic and grey in his satchel. Oscar coolly observed the hill they stood at the base of, and Priscilla seemed to be content looking out over the city to their right, her eyes misty.

"What do you think, Mike?" Logan asked as he gently probed the masonry of the arch with his staff. "Be the golden wall here a few moments ago magic, or miracle? And who could make such a thing last so long?"

"You Gus are huge nerds, and its fantastic. Gwyn made the barriers, I don't know why. To test the chosen undead? Anyway, placing the Lord vessel turned them off. Seath's is just a short bit ahead, and trust me, you guys will love, and hate it." Mike walked past lightly, enjoying the bare ground underfoot.

"Why?" Logan asked as he sped to keep up, the other mages a short distance behind. He took a few moments to marvel at the construction of the hallway they entered, before taking notice of a massive, red eyed boar eyeing them from a distance. Mike paid it no kind, casually bringing a head sized ball of black fire to life in his fingertips.

"I don't know why, but books are strewn about everywhere, on tables, the floor, some even in the basement with Seath's 'failed' experiments. My guess would be that he memorized it all, but that's assuming he's even sane, or can be recovered at all. Otherwise, I have to kill my father in law." Mike paused, realizing his slip. "I mean LEFT!"

With bone breaking force the undead min the hall jerked to the left, slamming into the wall just as the armored boar passed. It collapsed in a heap not much further away, an angled hole burnt in its left flank. Logan took initiative with a quickly cast soul spear that flew straight through its skull, overloading its weak brain in seconds.

"It left something." Jeremiah was the first to notice a boar shaped helmet lying in the ground, a rough length of bristles hanging from the neck area. With a flourish he spun it onto his face, before summoning twin flames in his palms. "How do I look?" He asked with a grin hidden in the armor.

"You look um… great!" Priscilla said automatically, before giggling behind a hand.

"There's another one behind the next corner, everyone be careful. These things are fast, and love backing people into corners." Jeremiah, the mask still on his face, fell into step alongside Mike when they continued onward.

In soft undertones the others couldn't hear, Jeremiah whispered to Mike "head over heels aren't you?"

Mike nervously wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, wringing a loose lock of brown hair in one hair as he replied, equally quiet. "…maybe."

"Don't sweat it, you're good enough I suppose." Jeremiah said reassuringly. "And don't worry about me pulling some dad warning crap. Just know that I and Priscilla go way back, I've practically raised her. As for her father… well, that's an egg you'll have to crack, not me. Your notes on chaos and reversing it, they're decent, but they lack on the, how do I put it…"

"The application." Mike butted in. "A bit of a bad habit of mine, doing way too much up here-" he tapped the side of his head, "-and not enough on paper. Confused the hell out of all my teachers." He paused after that, a lull in conversation as Priscilla moved slightly closer, still thanking Logan for the quick cast. Jeremiah's display also seemed to have adequately distracted her from Mikes slip earlier, and soon she fell into easy conversation with Laurentius and Logan, whom Mike cast a glance and a nod at while he and Jeremiah pulled ahead.

"You don't have any idea… how, I should approach this? I don't want to go too fast, but I don't ow what's too slow either." Mike gave up on his hair and moved to magic, tugging a was of papers and a quill from his satchel. Jeremiah graciously held his ink for him as he multitasked.

"You're talking to the wrong guy." Jeremiah grinned. "Love? Nah. Last girl I was with got me infected with chaos, and that was hundreds of years ago. My best advice would be to just relax and let whatever happens happen. You're smart, sometimes funny, and you don't look as bad as most guys, so I think you stand a chance."

"Wonderful. I suppose that leaves Siegmeyer, if I can find him, but otherwise I'm going in blind." Mike flicked his quill, agitatedly scrawling down a series of runes and numbers. "Well, I guess we ought to take care of pops first. Oh, and this."

Mike didn't even lift a hand to attack the boar whose tusks poked out from behind the corner. The sound of his foot hitting the floor echoed a little when he stomped, his whole leg on fire. There was a moment of silence before a dull red pillar of fire erupted under the boar, killing it in a few seconds.

"Interesting." Jeremiah said as they rounded the corner, the flame dying quickly.

"It's the fire soul in me. Quelaag tried burning me with a tiny speck of chaos, and I repurposed that and smacked it on to the side of my soul. Apparently, the chaos sisters have literally burning souls. Of course, that comes with a few perks." He held up his smoldering foot for emphasis. "Kinda hot though."

Jeremiah opened his mouth to respond, only to be drowned out by an ear splitting shriek from just behind them. Logan, who'd been caught up in conversation not seconds before, was staring wide eyed at a large, leather bound time lying haphazardly on the floor. With a jittering run he dashed to the book, lifting it with as little contact as possible, and flipped it over, revealing a book filled to the brim with tightly packed, very neat handwriting. If he wouldn't have dropped the book in the process, Logan might've fainted then.

"…Mike…" Logan spoke slowly, his words barely decipherable. "This… this is a copy of the research done by Jem Highwall, made almost three hundred years before my time." The sorcerer paused, looking left. Hundreds more books lined the walls in the 'lobby' area alone, and more yet on tables and floors.

"If you ever need anything, you've but to ask. Anything I can, I will do."

"Really now?" Mike quirked a smile. "And if I tell you this is literally not even a technical part of the library?"

"I will get to that later. There are far too many tomes here to ignore, they must be organized, and this place cleaned." Logan spread his arms, moving slower with the book, and indicated the objects scattered around them, many likely for scientific use.

Jeremiah looked around the lobby with raised brows. "That's a few books. Suppose there must be something on pyromancy and lightning in here, eh?" He nudged the snake caster and Laurentius, who nodded slowly. To the caster, he added "we could probably teach you to read and write too, though I'm not sure if your vocal cords can handle human speech."

The snake shrugged, moving to help Logan move a shattered lectern from near the bonfire. They cast the broken bits into a pile out in the hallway, the pieces sending echoes through the building.

"Ill take care of that stuff when I get back. If you can, salvaging some of the broken stuff would probably be a good idea, I'm sure Andre can reproduce it easily enough. Just be careful if you venture further, all the hollows here are crystalized, and that makes than stupid strong and dangerous. They're weak to fire, but if the channelers in there are allowed to cast, that won't matter because they'll kill you in a single hit, no joke." Mike flapped his hand in a low effort wave, but the gesture was generally lost on the four digging through broken stuff and books, gingerly assembling a row of tomes on a single sturdy table Logan had commandeered.

"Welp, that's our cue." Mike stepped onto the elevator, Oscar and Priscilla stepping up beside him as he dragged the lever over. The gate smoothly slid shut and they began to ascend.

Priscilla, Mike noticed, began nervously glancing around them as they rose, the bricks flying past. Her tail twitched wildly, brushing his leg every so often. Her hands were clenched together tightly, knuckles white. Whiter.

"Hey." Priscilla jumped at the word, startled eyes meeting Mike's. "Relax. If you don't want to, you don't have to be here." He slid his hand into hers, squeezing it gently.

"I-I know." Priscilla said. "I want to do… this, but its just…" She trailed off, clenching Mike's hand tighter.

"I get it, you've never met him, and from what you know, he's a huge jerk, yes?" Priscilla nodded.

"He- Velka always spoke of him, when she came. Everyone I know thinks him a monster, even the sorcerers that revere his work. What does that make me, daughter of monster and witch?"

"It makes you a hell of a lot more likeable than them." Mike said sternly. "You've clearly got no I'll intentions toward… anyone really, and you're far too pretty to be evil." Mike stopped suddenly, his face flushing crimson.

"You- You think I'm pretty?" Oscar, noticing the conversation, unsheathed his balder side sword when they reached the top of the elevator. A firebomb to stun the crystal hollows, a sword to the eye to end them. He escaped into the following room in a matter of seconds.

"Yes." Mike said instantly. His face was a shade of red from cherry, and might actually catch fire on accident.

"T-thank you. I've never been complimented..." Priscilla said softly.

"Expect more. Much more." Mike said, forcing himself to relax. Sweat beaded on his brow and his eyes widened as Priscilla suddenly turned and wrapped her arms around him, crushing him in a hug. He tried so very hard not to look down once.

"Clear!" Oscar's shout broke the moment, and Priscilla receded with a blush. Both readied their weapons, Mike's flames held high as Priscilla hefted her sword. They walked into the next room side by side, ready.

* * *

"Hey. Relaaax. Breathe." Mike patted Priscilla's shoulder as they stepped off the elevator. Her breath hitched up a notch when she saw the dark blue crystals sprouting from the wall, growing like moss from the brick. They stood there in the doorway for a few minutes, Priscilla's hands clenching and unclenching rapidly.

Oscar held back down below, Mike had pointed out the shortcut as they'd ascended and he'd dove onto the passing floor with the ease of a practiced swan diver. They'd last seen him turning around a stairway to reach a channeler that'd teleported into the room.

"I-I don't… what if he…?" Mike slid his arm around Priscilla's shoulders, a familiar movement. The crossbreed leaned into him as he gently patted her arm.

"Look, we'll be perfectly fine. We can back out of the room at any point, and if you want, we can just go back now." Priscilla's breathing had evened out, but she still looked panicked, her eyes darting about rapidly.

"No! I want to see him!" He voice cracked on the last word, a shudder going through her body.

"Come on then, just a few steps. Here, worst case scenario you break this and everything is fine." Priscilla gently took the small white bone mike handed her, a rib bone, by the looks of it. She clutched it to her side as they ducked into the hallway, the walls glittering where light bounced from the crystals.

Clang! Mike and Priscilla both flinched from the sound, the former hastily conjuring twin flames the size of softballs as a figure stepped forward from around a curve in the hall. He cursed inwardly as he realized who this was, the golden and red figure crusted in crystalline growths.

"Damn, forgot about him. Mostly unknown, he's decent with a sword and has good armor, let me handle this." Mike flung a flame out, testing the waters. The knight tilted up his shield, the crystals on its front glowing as they bounced firelight around. The medium sixed fireball pushed the knight back some, catching one of the crystals on his wrist aflame, but otherwise was useless.

"Bigger then." The remaining fireball grew to double its size, then shrank rapidly. It followed this cycle twice more, before Mike held a roiling sun in his hand. The knight warily approached, his armor scraping the wall every so often. He followed the previous tactic as Mike flicked out the flame, only to stop it at the last second, underhandedly pitching it at the Knight's feet. The hollow had the courtesy to look startled at the widening sphere seconds before it exploded, sending a wave of heat and air down the hallway. Crystals on the wall cracked and shattered at the force, melting into a glassy blue floor that cooled rapidly. Mike tentatively tested this with his feet before stepping onto it, pulling Priscilla further as they neared the stairs.

These were even more difficult to navigate, as crystals grew even lower from the ceiling and walls, closing in on them. Their edges were razor sharp, cutting anything they touched. Mike experienced this quite heavily as he let out a gasp and dove forward, startling Priscilla.

"Mike! What are you-"

"I GOT ONE!" Mike exclaimed loudly, followed by a shrill whine. Mike, his sides covered in shallow and deep cuts, ignored these as he turned around, a blue creature in his hands.

"Another one!" Priscilla said, smiling. Lily disapproved of it, but eventually gave up her position in Priscilla's shirt, snapping at her hand as she pulled the lizard out to see the other one. It squeaked and writhed as Mike dug around in his satchel for souls, which he pulled out in the form of a mass just bigger than his thumb.

Lily leaned forward to see the lizard more as it slowed, the souls intriguing it. Glittering shards of titanite clicked as they fell to the floor under it, green pieces most prevalent. It smelled the souls for a few seconds before snapping the mass from Mike in a single bite, crunching on them loudly.

"Well need to name him." Mike said as the lizard relaxed in his hands. It glared around for a few seconds, its gaze on Lily for a little while, before it locked onto Priscilla. She 'awwed' as it reached out two tiny forearms in her direction, its stubby claws opening and closing rapidly. Mike set him down and he scuttled toward Priscilla instantly.

"How about… Blue? He's quite blue."

"That'll do. It appears you've a new admirer." Blue pawed at her leg with one foot, apparently unable to climb into her lap alone. He was far smaller than Lily, barely ten inches long, where she exceeded a foot. How she fit in Priscilla's, or his pockets was beyond him. She stared down at Blue from Priscilla's hands before slowly leaning forward, inspecting him. When she was done she walked past, climbing down Priscilla's pants to the floor. Mike cocked a brow as she primly climbed to his shoulder, pawing a wrinkle in his shirt flat before flopping across it.

"The more the merrier!" Mike stood swiftly, careful to avoid the crystals around them. Before they pressed onward he took a deep draw of estus to close the weeping wounds on his arms and torso where the crystals had cut him.

Priscilla took a sharp breath when a fog wall appeared ahead, ominously roiling and billowing in the doorway leading to Seath's boss room. Her hand clenched around the homeward home mike had given her a little more tightly, a trickle of ash falling to the floor from it.

"H-he's here?" Priscilla asked, her voice wavering.

"Right behind this doorway. Likely he's already noticed us, I'll go through first to see if it's safe." Mike made to place a hand on the fog, only to be stopped by Priscilla, who grabbed his arm.

"Wait!" Mike turned, letting his arm drop.

"Yeah?" He said. Priscilla nervously clasped her hands together, before stepping forward, wrapping both arms around Mikes torso and pulling him against her.

"I… I have something to tell you, later." Priscilla said quietly, just above a mutter.

"Ok." Priscilla broke her grip on him, stepping back with a blush. "I'll be back in a second or two." Mike back stepped, sliding through the fog as soon as he toughed it. There was no screech, nor other sound, as he turned to face Seath. The dragon merely stared at him.

Mike cleared his throat. "Excuse me? You haven't forgotten how to talk, have you?" He said this as he leaned against a crystalized column, carefully avoiding the razor edges and spiked floor.

"No." Seath's voice came smoothly, a low thrumming him present behind his silky words. Mike shuddered as goosebumps erupted up his arms. Seath had the voice of someone warm and inviting, and frankly, it was slightly intimidating. "I have not yet gone daft, undead. I also see you've brought another in the corridor. Attacks from the front or back do not effect me."

"Didn't intend to attack you at all. You're surprisingly calm, usually when a chosen meets you here you're l 'raaa I'm invincible look at me' and you kill them. Why not me?" To Mike's surprise, he was almost warming up to nice guy Seath.

"You forget my channelers. I saw you before, when you killed the one in the parish. I was unsure when, but knew you would survive to encounter me. It is merely unfortunate that the other channelers rebelled when they hollowed, I would certainly like to know more of you, and how you know what you do." Seath moved his arms into a crossed position, his head pointing straight ahead.

"I'm famous then. You understand the idea that there are other worlds, other realities with similar timelines but small differences?" Mike asked, looking up at the dragon.

"Yes. I have experimented some with soapstones, but my supply ran out many years ago." Seath shrugged. "I did not have enough channelers to obtain more."

"I have one, but that doesn't matter. I came from another world, I don't know when because I woke up hollow, but in that other world, there weren't hollows, or magic, souls, at least that I know of, and the first flame. It was radically different, technology far surpassing that here. The examples I could give you would blow your mind."

"Intriguing." Seath rumbled. "How then did you acquire your knowledge?"

"A game. Sort of. In my world, the journey of the chosen undead is an interactive experience that I went through hundreds of times, sort of like a book, except I could manipulate some things. That's how I know you have the Moonlight Great sword, and the crystal that makes you invincible in a crystal cave on the other side of your property."

Seath made no facial expressions, so it was hard to gauge his reaction when he spoke again. "So you've knowledge of your own actions and their reactions then?"

"Yes and no. Velka decided that saving a bunch of people fated to die went against the undead prophecy, which is bullshit anyway, so she's been up my ass trying to stop me. I've also tinkered with chaos successfully, and gotten some neat magic and dark magic stuff going on. I'm tempted to share, but I'm trying to gauge how much I trust you, and so far, that's not very much." Mike gestured to the fog wall beside himself. "Her, for example." He poked a hand through, gesturing for Priscilla to come forward.

Seath was utterly silent as Priscilla slowly stepped through the fog, gripping Mike's arm tightly when she was through. She pulled close to him, staring up at her father with wide eyes. Seath didn't move, his wings not even fluttering in the wind as they'd before.

"F-father?" Priscilla's voice wavered, her body stiff.

"You finally escaped." Seath's voice was a mix of delight and surprise. "I don't suppose the remaining gods were overjoyed? And why are you so small? I recall you being a large child, even for Velka. You should be heads taller than this human."

Priscilla shuddered when she heard Seath speak, goosebumps erupting across her arms. "M- Velka put some of her own soul in myself when I was a baby, giving me the power of lifedrain. She took it back not long ago, by force. We-" She gestured to Mike and herself "-convinced Gwyndolin to let us be." A breath of relief went through Priscilla when she finished talking.

"That explains much." Seath was quiet for a moment. "She is gathering power, you must be a formidable foe." He said to Mike.

"I try. You got anything to help us fight her?" He looked around the room. "Magic we're able to cast?"

"Daughter, if you would allow me a moment to do some testing, I could-"

"No!" Priscilla snapped, loudly. "I'm not going to be part of your experiments too!" Her voice hinted at anger, and her fists balled at her sides.

"But you were bred to-"

"You heard what she said. No experiments." Mike said this calmly, hoping not to anger Seath. "Priscilla is a person, and you've a bad track record experimenting with those. You should also consider that you've ignored her for hundreds of years, leaving her locked in a panting with nobody else but a chaos infected pyromancer." Mike closed his eyes, clenching his fists. His skin smoldered for a few seconds before he calmed his temper.

"You have nothing you can say that'll get her, or me, to agree with anything you ask. If you aren't helping us, we'll just help ourselves."

Seath seemed startled by his words, and possibly by the smoke rising from his skin. "You believe you can defeat Velka then, when even the first flame couldn't kill her?" He stopped to chuckle, his voice rolling with mirth. "You two are amusing. When you've passed through this rebellious stage daughter-"

"Enough. Let's go steal his stuff Priscilla." Mike pulled the crossbreed with him into the fog, her eyes defiantly locked onto Seath.

"You will see! One day, you'll-" The stone muffled the rest of his words, a low, indecipherable rumble. Priscilla stiffly moved, pulled along only by Mike's insistent tugging. The crossbreed let out a shuddering sigh when Seath disappeared from view, her muscles relaxing.

"I will never be like him." Priscilla seethed. She glared at the doorway for a few more seconds, eyes aflame, before she spun around, slamming into Mike. To his surprise, she buried her head in his shoulder, a single, heavy sob wracking her frame.

"Mmmmf nmff hmmm?" Mike held in a grin at the muffled words, steadying himself as Priscilla shook.

"Can you repeat that not in my robe?" Mike asked, gently pulling Priscilla from his shoulder. She looked at him with eyes threatening tears.

"I'm not- not like him, am I?" The words came out small and strained, Priscilla's hands clenching his forearms as she looked into his eyes.

"Priscilla." The crossbreed shuddered at the emotion in Mike's voice, which was low and serious. "You aren't anything like him, not even close. Seath is a devious, overambitious ass that uses people as he sees fit. You're compassionate, emotional, vibrant, and to be honest, you're quite a bit more beautiful than he."

Priscilla hiccupped. "Really? You think I'm… beautiful?"

Mike smiled. "It does you no justice." He leaned down to her ear, lowering his voice to a whisper. _"And if were being honest, I like you. A lot. I was a little nervous earlier, but it think you should be told."_

"B-but I-I'm" Priscilla stammered, crimson rising to her cheeks.

"You, are you, and you-" He paused, leaning down to bring his face close to Priscilla's. His eyes traced her lips, flicking back up to hers a second later. _"-are perfect."_ Priscilla's breath hitched as he leaned in, pressing their lips together. Her eyes widened as his warm skin touched her, before instinct took over and she relaxed her grip on his arms.

He brought his hands up to gently pull her away from him, her eyes remorseful at the separation. A hot longing settled into his gut as he separated them. "Told you." He said smugly.

"I- you-" Priscilla paused, a hand fluttering over her heart. "We-"

"Ssh." Mike muttered. He felt her hesitate for a second, before melting into the kiss, her arms tightly pulling him close. They could've stood like this for ages, both practically immortal, enjoying each other's presence.

The sound of a throat being cleared caused both of them to jump, spinning to face the hallway below. Both grew beet red as Oscar patiently inclined his head at them, looking between the two.

"Fraternizing on the job I see. I suppose it is to be expected. I cleared out much of the remaining libraries channelers, how is Seath?"

Priscilla spoke up first. "He is uncooperative. We'll be back eventually for his soul, but now we have the key to Oolacile, right?"

"Indeed. To the entrance?" Mike said. Oscar nodded, and they began descending the dangerous passageway. Mike and Priscilla shared looks as they fell into step a few feet behind Oscar, heat rising to their cheeks unbidden.

 _"Perfect."_ Mike whispered. Priscilla closed her eyes and leaned into his side, Seath's muffled yelling fading behind them.


	35. Where have I been?

Readers,

So, as you are all aware, I've been gone for a little bit. No regular(ish) updates, no reason why. I'm reassuring you of nothing here, so if that's what you want, you're S.O.L. my friend. Long (not really) story short, schoolwork and family stuff is messing with my schedule, and deciding to abstain from coffee (I was getting too many craving headaches) for the last few months have held me up a lot. Honestly tough, I updated almost weakly, where most of the authors I follow are at best every two or three (hey go check some of them out, they're mighty fine pieces of work.

So about ten minutes ago, I had an idea, and ten minutes later, I'm working on the beginnings of a draft for it (that means I write too fast and fix things later.) If you watch my profile for the next few days, I'll be creating a new story called The Summoned Supplementary Guide, something to hold you guys over until I get the major revisions of Summoned done with, hopefully before next summer. In this I'll be posting small side stories to flesh out things I don't explicitly mention in Summoned, such as Oscar's foray into the Catacombs with Rhea and her entourage. these will come out basically whenever I feel like, (hopefully more than the last side fic I had,) though I've a list of things to work on right now, so it should do fine.

Finally, if any of you really cool people (looking at you) want to actually be helpful with the writing process and generally talk among other fic consumers such as yourself, consider joining my discord at /ScuUt7G. (You gotta put that after discord dot gg, this website is suuuper anti-link.)

And no, before anyone asks, I am _not_ making any holiday themed chapters. They're ineffective outside of the half month prior to the holiday, and are just generally out of place.


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